How's it Gonna Be?
by Catch23North
Summary: Wolverine had a life before the Weapon X project mind-wiped him, and he wasn't the only one... Wolverine/Sabretooth. Rated 'M' for a reason.
1. Dark Side of the Moon

Title: How's it Gonna Be? (Chapter 1: Dark Side of the Moon)

Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth  
Rating: NC-17/M

Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.

Disclaimer: This is not a cash venture. Characters are property of Marvel Comics. They will be returned unharmed later, though I make no such guarantees about their clothing.  
Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured.

* * *

Snow and claws flashed together in the white-cold sun, and blood covered Logan's hands. Not nearly enough. He could still smell Silverfox's blood under Sabretooth's, and the numb despair from earlier had flashed up like lit kerosene in the face of Logan's suddenly focused rage.

Sabretooth was winning. It was not that he was stronger or faster than Wolverine was, it was the memories he had and Wolverine did not. It was the gleam of full awareness and recognition in his eyes as he landed blow after blow, and it was the wet, slimy trickle of blood that was slowly working it's way into the claw housing of Wolverine's right arm.

The dream ended abruptly, with a knock at Wolverine's door, and he wiped it out of his eyes before anyone else saw it.

The nightmare returned.

It was stronger this time, and the tactics Sabretooth used for this fight were far more brutal. He gouged Wolverine's eyes with his thumbs, and tore a mouthful of Wolverine's side out with his teeth. Wolverine returned the favor as best he could, but some of the tactics he would have used in the waking world were useless to him here, as if he couldn't remember how his body was supposed to move. Nothing made sense in this dream. The only familiar thing was Logan's hatred of Sabretooth, and his enemy's mocking smile. They fought...

And then a burst of unfamiliar, shattering pain struck Logan's hip, dropping him to the ground at Sabretooth's feet. Gasping for breath at the shock of actually having something BROKEN, Wolverine realized that he was in the past. Before the X-men, before Jean Gray, before the tank, and the hot, liquid metal that made his claws masquerade as simple retractable knives.

He'd lost the Adamantium since then, but until now, his dreams hadn't reflected this.

Sabretooth flashed his hand down, sharp-nailed fingers locked out straight like harpoons, and Logan caught it, because he had to. Sabretooth ground his fingers into a fist, most around, and one THROUGH Wolverine's hand. He struck down again, this time twisting as he did so, and the bones of Wolverine's wrist snapped, bone claws, casings and all.

The third nightmare struck like a snake. There was blackness, no sight, only feeling and smells, so many crisp, loud smells. Mostly something sharp, salty like sweat-stiff leather. Pines. Dust. It wasn't winter anymore, it was summer. Juniper and fresh-broken weeds. Not Canada, but...

He was fighting a hand-no, a knee on his throat. One arm was temporarily out of commission, and the other was buried up to the base of his claws in the meat of Sabretooth's leg, just above the offending knee. He was struggling with that hand, trying to keep it from suffocating him, and trying to twist his metal claws hard enough into the muscle to tear something.

Then came another pain, a different one. This was a pain that no man was meant to know and live, and his conscious brain was wise to have hidden it from him. It was many things. The impossibility began with Sabretooth's pointed fingernails punching through his skin like wet cloth, four just above the pubic bone, and one actually beneath it, behind Logan's 'family jewels'.

Then it got worse, because Sabretooth closed his fist, soundly crushing everything within his palm. Sabretooth raised Logan over his head one handed, his arm covered in blood and clearer liquid from the puncture wounds his fingers were holding open. He roared triumph into the red-orange sky of late afternoon, and the echo came back off the mountains with an unnatural clarity, the only thing besides the pain that Logan's mind could still comprehend.

He had it.

This was the place behind the pain, behind the berserker itself that had so often kept Logan alive in the past. And Sabretooth couldn't hold him out of striking range like this forever. As Sabretooth lowered him, however, there was the nova of a punch at the back of his head, and he knew nothing more.

Logan awoke breathing shallow and harsh, teeth set together against remembered acts of madness. One set of claws was out, slicing three neat holes in the sweaty blanket that covered him.

The night after that was actually the third night since the last dream, but Logan hadn't slept in three days.

He just didn't feel like sleeping, for some odd reason. Each of the three previous dreams had the good grace to fade a little by morning's light, but they still hunted the edges of the peace that Wolverine had carefully built within his mind. He was hoping the ridiculous amount of scotch he'd just drunk would forestall ANY thought, much less dream, but ...

He was in a mineshaft now, the air close and hot, with a trace of spent explosives seeping out of the walls themselves. He had been stripped and tied, no... staked to something. Not railroad spikes, or he could have pulled off of the ends, but something like them.

Wait... That was it. A rock drill, through both wrists, and seated deep into the rock beneath. He felt light-headed, and thirsty. How much of the damp ground beneath his head was wet with -water-, anyway? At first he thought Sabretooth had staked him in this tunnel to die, but Wolverine discarded this thought almost immediately. To be that sloppy wasn't Sabretooth's style.

Nor to be that kind.

He was right, and Sabretooth soon returned. The hairs on the back of Logan's neck stood stiffly, knowing and not knowing, remembering what until now had been safely buried.

Sabretooth had definitely waited for him to heal, but without at least a little water, not much of the blood loss from their previous fight had changed. If he could just get things to move faster, just enough to get his hands around the handle of the rock drill...

Sabretooth smiled down at him evilly, then pounced. Logan kicked him upside the jaw, and drew blood at the corner of Sabretooth's mouth. This took a lot of effort, and delayed Sabretooth for all of four seconds. Sabretooth laughed, and reached down towards Logan's most unprotected area, apparently to crush him a second time. Logan ripped down on his hands, tearing the tendons around his wrists, and driving the bit of the rock drill almost up to the level of his palms. The hole in his wrists and hands started bleeding again, and though it didn't do so long, it didn't help. Sabretooth took hold of Logan's privates in one hand, and used the other one to hold his head down so he wouldn't bite.

This was new. New and BAD.

Sabretooth did not disappoint him. Using only a thumb claw, Sabretooth tore open the same thin skin he had in the previous dream, only this time it seemed he was being more methodical about it. ...Like maybe he had a -reason-.

A wave of cold, sick certainty hit Wolverine's mind, and he bit Sabretooth with a desperate twist. A fraction of a second after he felt his teeth sink into the side of Sabretooth's hand, Sabretooth bit Logan's neck just below the ear, and bit deep. The warmth spreading around the back of Wolverine's right shoulder wasn't just blood, it was blood that was flowing too fast for Sabretooth to drink.

Sabretooth was no vampire, but the taste of blood was very attractive to him.

Especially Logan's, because he had tasted it in the past, but never very much at one time. Never this much. Sabretooth checked Logan's eyes, and drew back from Logan's neck, licking the broken skin wistfully, and reached for-

Wolverine awoke with a harsh and terrified scream that made him wonder how long he'd been screaming. He was glad he wasn't at the X-mansion, because the last thing he wanted to do was explain a dream like that, particularly to anyone he knew.

The sick thing was, Logan knew the difference between dreams that had happened and dreams that hadn't. And somewhere, some time, this one might have.

It did explain a little of why he both hated Sabretooth beyond all reason, and feared him above far more powerful enemies. But it didn't feel complete, this terrible reflection...

Two days later, Logan awoke in a field of new grass and wild onions, under the mid-morning sun, a long way away from anywhere. The only nearly-human scent around was his own, and this was a comforting thought, but he couldn't remember why he'd come out there in the first place. What had he done, and why couldn't he remember?

The same thing happened a week later, but he woke up back in his apartment. This was getting really disturbing, especially since the mineshaft dream had returned in bits and snatches, but never with any words or meaning he could make sense of. Sometimes he remembered Sabretooth talking to him about something, but he could never remember what it was upon waking. Maybe finding the real, flesh-and-blood Sabretooth, and beating the ever living shit out of him would help jog his memory...

* * *

It had been a long ride North into Alberta. The weather that had been threatening when he left the X-Mansion settled in somewhere over North Dakota, and the bent grasses on the edge of the interstate frosted white. Logan though about the Indian reservations nearby, and wondered what the friends he had in these parts were doing this time of year. The shades of Winter darkened as he rode into Canada. Late October could look a lot like early January here.

In a roadside motel, two miles away from the Canadian federal park he was looking for, Logan quietly fell apart. It was something he allowed himself to do, because just once in a while he needed to, or the outcome was worse. In a better mood, he might have compared these episodes to the beginning scenes of 'Apocalypse Now'. Logan half-trashed the place, then curled up in a ball in the center of the floor, shivering, fingers raking through the stained brown carpet as if trying to get a hold of something. Inside Wolverine's head, memories slammed into being and melted like globs of wax seconds later, unrecoverable. There was a foreboding sense of deja-vous about this, and Logan grabbed a thought with all of his concentration as it appeared, not much caring which one.

Gibney. Kyle Gibney. Wildchild, now Wildheart. Not all of him, just his scent. That not-quite-washed teenage madness smell.

Irritated, Wolverine grabbed for another.

A bridge. South America, perhaps?

Another.

A storm at the top of a mountain, bare rocks and black rain, jagged stone spikes, waking up after being hit with a shot of lightening, and laughing at his skin burned as it healed.

Madness and power.

Wolverine grabbed for another thought, and blacked out suddenly.

* * *

Logan woke up in the deepest corner of the closet, wrapped tightly in the dull blue blanket that had been on the bed the night before. There were no new smells, and he was alone. His stomach growled. Feeling very clear-headed, Logan got up and tossed the blanket back on the bed, then stretched. This would be a good day.

Logan's bike made good time into the mountains, and he left it at the last gas station before the road ended. It was a deliberate message. The best way to hunt a predator was to make him think he's getting a free meal. Sabretooth was no different, but the trick was to have a good enough plan to deal with what happened when he DID show up. Wolverine had planned carefully, and set up what appeared to be a simple and effective deadfall snare. Thing was, that wasn't the trap. The trap itself was a series of snow-covered claymore mines set to go off when Sabretooth approached the trap to laugh at the attempt. Which he would. The smell of the claymores was well hidden by layers of long-dried latex paint. The paint would smell, but wouldn't put Sabretooth on guard the way the scent of gun powder or C4 would. It was a dirty, underhanded, nasty trap that was as far from Wolverine's style as such things got. And that might be why, two days later, it worked. It was a hell of a mess, and Sabretooth had embedded shrapnel from the tops of his leather boots to his blood-matted hair. He didn't get up.

Wolverine looked at his fallen nemesis speculatively for a long, dangerous moment, the scent of Sabretooth's blood heady and sweet in his nostrils. It would be easy to kill him now... but Wolverine had come for answers, not an easy win, or he would never have used the explosives trap in the first place. He tied Sabretooth up to a stout tree, using tow-truck chain and two sets of heavy steel shackles.

Sabretooth's eyes cracked slightly, then opened when he saw Wolverine staring at him intently. Sabretooth's lower lip had been torn, and hadn't quite healed. His tongue probed the cut, and after a moment, Sabretooth spat a small piece of bloody metal onto the snow in front of him. A slow smile crossed his red-streaked face, and he looked back at Wolverine.

"That was good, runt. Didn' think ya had it in ya."

"Surprise," Wolverine replied, deadpan, "-and I want some information."

"COCKSUCKER!!" snarled Sabretooth. "-And here I thought ya were finally gonna be fun!"

"Knowin' how ya love ta bleed, I'm gonna start real simple," Wolverine continued, "...jus' tell me a story." Popping one claw on each hand, Wolverine ripped what was left of Sabretooth's clothes off.

"Guess I was right," Sabretooth grinned smugly.

* * *

Wolverine kept his face carefully blank, because he had no idea what he was about to release- -in his OWN mind. He'd been reacting differently to uncovered memories lately, and blacking out in front of Sabretooth, even a well-restrained Sabretooth, was a probable death sentence.

Or maybe not. Sabretooth had had the opportunity to kill him in the past and hadn't. Degrade, torture, dominate, destroy, these things Sabretooth was ready and willing to do, but perhaps for the same reasons, Sabretooth didn't seem to be able to bring himself to kill Logan. This was the only creature that could heal as he could, sense as he did, hate like he could. This was Wolverine.

In the back of his mind, Wolverine remembered something else. Something that incited feelings that were much less than human. Sabretooth had effectively raped him. Maybe more than once. How many times had he blocked this and kept going like nothing had happened...?

Sabretooth needed a sense of perspective. He needed punishment and a reminder. What better way to get him talking about the past than to re-enact it?

Thing was though, Wolverine didn't really want to have sex with Sabretooth, willing or otherwise, and he damn well didn't want to unchain him for the purpose.

There was, however, more than one way to skin a cat.

Logan used his claws.

"Lame-brain sonofawhore..." Sabretooth choked, after he stopped screaming.

"Start talking," Wolverine advised coldly, eyeing his wet claws.

"Fuck you."

"Bad answer. We got all night."

"Logan, whaddya think you know?" Sabretooth asked, still hurting, but suddenly serious.

"Enough." growled Wolverine. He was lying, and they both knew it.

"I'll have you, one of these days," Sabretooth promised, grimly. "I don't care whether you remember or not. Your mind's a pile o' crap, Logan."

"When?"

Sabretooth looked at Wolverine thoughtfully. He made a choice, then said,

"Since th' metal. You ain't remembered who ya were since."

"Who was I, then?"

"My bitch," Sabretooth grinned.

"I don' think so, Creed."

"Yeah, 'think'. Ya do that real well, don't ya. Tell me Logan, wha'd ya think o' Kyle?"

"Gibney? ...Wildchild?" Wolverine remembered the night at the motel at the bottom of the mountain, and felt cold. "He's an impulsive shit who reminds me o' you with less smarts."

"Yeah, but he didn' have ta be, did 'e?" Sabretooth's tone was almost but not quite accusing.

"What are ya talking about?" Wolverine demanded, as a second cold wave made it's way down his back.

"THEY made 'im like that, don't ya see?"

"Which-" Wolverine started to ask, but then the world went black again.

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, runt," Sabretooth called, softly. Wolverine opened his eyes with a start, and for a second, was not sure whether or not he had. Reality was disturbingly close to the dreams. The sun had risen, and it was warmer. Sabretooth was sitting on Wolverine's stomach, and had enterprisingly used the shackles to chain Wolverine's wrists to a thick tree root above his head, and his feet to stakes driven into the ground. Seeing the pleased, wicked look on Sabretooth's face, Logan's eyes narrowed.

"This is trouble ya won't live through, Creed."

"Maybe so..." Sabretooth smiled back, "-but until then, your ass is mine."

Logan fought. The way Creed had staked him out, it made not a damn bit of difference, and it meant that he took a lot of unnecessary injuries. Not that they mattered for long, of course. For all that he was, Wolverine fought anyway.

Sabretooth had him twice that day. The first time, he fought like a wildcat, and the second time, he made no sound at all, mind locked in to resist showing weakness in the face of torture. At the very back of his mind, Wolverine noticed that the second time, the only damage that Sabretooth did him was actually at the point of entry. Elsewhere, he mocked Wolverine with sensations that lied. Sharp bites, and warm, hard licks, rough strokes and deep, purring growls, and underneath it the great dull pain of his dick, forcing it's way inside. Sabretooth came hard on the second round, and his teeth broke the skin on the side of Wolverine's neck. Wolverine's patience snapped, and he roared in outrage, tearing his neck out of Sabretooth's mouth, and sinking his own teeth deep into Sabretooth's shoulder, severing deep muscles. The rush of Sabretooth's blood in his mouth was like no other, but it made him remember something, and Wolverine started to fade out.

/I am not. Doing. This blackout shit. Again./ Logan promised himself.

* * *

When he came to, the shackles were gone. Logan was simply lying half-curled on the ground, already fully healed. He felt sticky. Sabretooth was sitting on his heels a short distance away, still naked and bloody, watching Logan thoughtfully. Logan said nothing. What he felt most was confused, because by all rights he should have been furious, and he wasn't. Angry, yes, but not the kind of senseless, visceral rage that was most common when it came to Sabretooth and him. On some level that his mind couldn't quite reach, Logan understood what had just happened. Sabretooth was insane, and he liked to dominate, but he hadn't gone out of his way to torture. Perversely, he'd almost completely avoided it, so the memories of what he'd done couldn't just be lost in a wave of remembered pain. There was something in his quiet expression, too, that bordered on...

"WHAT?" Wolverine glared at him.

Sabretooth looked very disappointed.

"Y' are a stubborn cuss, I'll give ya that," Sabretooth sighed, "-still, it don' matter. Sooner or late, I'll have ya back."

"I wouldn' count on that," Logan snorted. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he was sure he couldn't take Sabretooth in a fight with the energy he had left, and he wanted to put as much distance between them as possible until he could get it back. Wolverine stood up, dusted himself off, and picked up what he could find of his clothes.

Sabretooth laughed.

"See ya 'round, runt!"

...How the hell had he known Sabretooth would be in this part of the mountains, anyway?

* * *

Sabretooth was following him. Wolverine had the sensation of being watched at least once or twice a day, and now and then, he thought he could smell Sabretooth nearby, but he never saw anyone. Sabretooth was being very sneaky, and very, very uncharacteristically cautious. Once or twice Wolverine lost his pursuer altogether, but Sabretooth always seemed to locate him again after a week or so.

He couldn't go back to the Xavier Institute like this. No, Sabretooth was his own personal demon, and there was no bringing him home to meet the kiddies. So, now what?

Logan had been dreaming of the Adamantium procedure lately. Occasionally of Sabretooth, but more often of the night he had been captured by Dr. Cornelius' thugs. He hadn't been expecting them, and his mind had been on something else...

/What have I done?/ Wolverine wondered. /Why does it feel like I HAVE done something?/

...And if I haven't, why can I remember being basically raped by Creed, but not this?

Scratch that. What leads do I -really- have.../

* * *

This was a private war. Kyle Gibney might have arrived on the scene late, but he was by no means unarmed, whatever his older Alpha Flight teammates thought of him. He would hold it together in the face of overwhelming odds for the longest time, and nobody else would even notice, yet every time he slipped, they were always there to see it. Not today.

Kyle was hunting moose, and doing it well. Walking lightly through the snow, using rocks whenever he could, Kyle approached. The small group of moose he was tracking had been moving down the valley all day, and they were approaching a chokepoint. Kyle waited.

And waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.

Shit. Goddamn slow-moving moose.

Finally-

"Yaaragggh!" Kyle pounced, launching himself onto the back of the lead animal, and tearing it's throat open with his talons. The moose refused to die, and attempted to buck him off. Kyle was having none of it. He brought his elbow up and forward in a vicious arc, smashing into the base of the moose's skull. The moose staggered, and fell. Kyle leapt from it in midair, landing with a light crunch in the snow beside his kill, and plunging his hand into the moose's lung, through it's ribcage. The heart was just past there. Kyle yanked the moose's heart out, and watched it stop beating. Then he ate it.

That was how Logan found him, and as their eyes met, there was a silent agreement not to mention it.

"What's up Wolverine? Whaddya want?" Wildheart asked.

"Talk to ya."

Wildheart shrugged his agreement.

"When's the first time we met?" Wolverine asked.

"Dunno," Wildheart frowned, "Alpha Flight, probably."

"What about Sabretooth?"

"How the hell should I know when you met Sabretooth?"

"I meant when did YOU meet him."

"Why are you asking me all of this?" Wildheart asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"'Cause it's important," Wolverine replied.

"Yeah, well... guess that's all I get from everybody else," Wildheart sighed. If the question had been anything else, he might have told even Wolverine to go to hell, but he found himself wanting to talk about this. Besides, if there was ANYONE who would believe him, it was his former teacher. "-I met him a couple of years before I joined Alpha Flight. I was kinda wandering, and he drove by in this old pickup truck. He just stopped, and looked at me, and told me to get in the truck. No explanation or anything. And I did, 'cause he scared the bejezus out of me," Wolverine was really paying attention to this, Kyle noted, "-anyway, we drove around for a while, just me and him. Somewhere. He got me food, and stole me this really cool buck knife. When I'd wise off to him, he'd hit me, but otherwise we got along good. He thought I was kinda funny."

"How'd ya part company?"

"Some guys shot 'im. I didn't know he'd come back, so I split. After that I didn't see him until after I met you."

"Huh," said Wolverine, thoughtfully.

"What does all that mean to you?" Wildheart asked.

"When I figure that out, I'll let ya know," Wolverine replied.

"You're gonna go now, aren't you?" Wildheart observed.

"Yeah."

"Bye."

"Watch your ass out there, kid," said Wolverine, walking away.

* * *

/I am so close. I had him once and always, mine and mine alone. The only one strong enough not to fold like a frail, the only one for me, the only one who's really my kind.

Logan.

I've lived into this century pretty well. So did he, for a while. I remember our trip t' Egypt. We worked a steamer across, no airplane or nothin'. Got there in winter, just like now. Ended up roaring drunk at a bar in Cairo I couldn't pronounce the name of. We slept it off, and went to the valley of the kings on foot the next day. Just him and me, walking through the sand. It was wet on top in the morning, dark and cold, and everybody else pretty much kept to the camel paths. In a way, we'd never been more alone and together at the same time.

When we got to the valley, Lake met us, and- -ah, hell. What did I ever do to Logan that he can remember Landau, Luckman and Lake, and not me?

Maybe that's the point.

I wasn't always like this, you know. There's a part o' Logan, and a part o' me, that are always like this, but while mine focuses outwards when the fat hits the fire, Logan's turns inwards, protecting whatever cubs he can find. I turn around and kill anything that ain't us. It's what we're wired ta do, an' we do it well, both of us. Thing is, somewhere along the line, Logan decided he was protecting the 'cubs' from ME. And he's very passionate about these things. And with that metal in his bones, there was no reasonin' with 'im. Fucked 'im up good, that stuff. I watched him AGE for chrissake! AGE. That ain't supposed to happen, not then, not to him.

Drove me nuts.

My partner, an' e's sick, and there was NOTHIN', NOTHIN' I could do about it. I owe Magneto big time for this, and he don't even know it. Adamantium don't come loose by shakin'.

I've been watching him. Day by day he comes back to himself, rootin' out the truth about his past with a new rage, all quiet-like.

I doubted 'im once. God damn stupidest thing I ever did.

'Mine-o-mine, no matter what she do,' -Spoon had that right./

* * *

He hadn't blacked out since Canada. Maybe it was Wolverine's luck, maybe just deciding not to black out again last time. Wildheart had- or maybe could have had- a strong connection to Sabretooth. Creed had taken one look at the boy and taken him under his wing, yet hadn't tracked him down a second time when they were separated, and had allowed Kyle to keep believing he was dead. Kyle wasn't a bad kid, really. He had a lot of things against him, and he still fought for who he was, who he wanted to be. The similarities between Creed and the kid were painfully obvious, from mutation type to looks. To pass on a list of mutations like having a healing factor, heightened senses, sharp claws, and feral tendencies on to the next generation intact and unchanged was almost unheard of. Mutations tended to shift and change, seeking more effective forms. Yet Kyle had them. Wolverine didn't know much about Kyle's family, but it appeared to be just a regular, if abusive, set of human bloodlines. Wolverine wondered if Sabretooth had had Kyle's Human mother, and she just never told anyone about it.

Sabretooth was strange when it came to the subject of Kyle. Maybe on some level Creed realized that he needed to take care of Kyle, but couldn't form the right kinds of ties himself, and had let Wolverine check on Kyle instead. ...That almost made sense. To his undying annoyance, Wolverine had gained the reputation of taking on 'strays' from time to time, and who better to teach and protect Wildheart than a mutant with abilities similar to his own?

Wolverine's head hurt. Part of what he was thinking was probably responsible, but what the hell. He'd been trying to figure this mess out for weeks, and though he was making SOME progress, he wasn't sure he was going in the right direction with it.

Grrrrrrr...

One thing was for sure, Wolverine had been re-evaluating his nemesis. Every year on his birthday, Sabretooth dropped by to take a crack at him. Mess him up, confuse him, fuck with his head, fuck HIM, soak the ground with blood, leave bodies of Wolverine's enemies and threatening notes- "Nobody kills you but ME- especially today!" and the like. Now, Wolverine knew about betrayal, and since Creed had claimed to have had some kind of a long-term relationship with him, however crudely, Logan had been looking at Creed's actions in this light.

At first, Sabretooth had tolerated the fact that Wolverine didn't remember much, but as more and more time passed, Wolverine noticed that Sabretooth had gotten more violent and frustrated by the blank look in Logan's eyes when he brought up the past. Silverfox he remembered, but she hadn't actually died then. A lot of memories got tampered with, and not just in HIS head. It was only in the last ten or fifteen years that Sabretooth had really lost it, and if he thought- -never mind whether it was true- -if Sabretooth believed that he and Wolverine had been together and Wolverine had spontaneously, for whatever reason, forgotten everything about it, that would explain a lot. More points towards the theory that Sabretooth was Kyle's father, because Kyle's age matched up roughly with the time right after Wolverine would have disappeared after getting the Adamantium, leaving Sabretooth with no explanation and a missing 'partner'. Maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to go looking for a woman.

That added up disturbingly well, and Logan found himself wondering... could he have actually been with Creed at some point? A somewhat more stable version of the Sabretooth he knew, a powerful, loyal predator who even NOW refused to give up hope that Logan would someday remember him for what he was, and came back every year to see if that was the case?

Woah.

That was TOO close. Maybe there was something to it...

/But I was NEVER/ Wolverine decided, /Sabretooth's 'bitch'./

* * *

"Ring... ring... ring... ring... ring... CLICK-- Hey. This is Victor Creed. You're callin' my phone, so I figure ya want something. After th' beep, say what that is, and if ya leave me a number, I might even get back to ya."

"..." Wolverine looked at the receiver in annoyance. Even Sabretooth's answering machine was capable of irritating him.

"BEEP."

Wolverine took a breath.

"It's me. Pick up if you're there. ...Fine. I've been thinkin'. We gotta talk, Vic. Not like beat the crap out o' each other, either. We'll get t' that anyway. I know ya been around. I want a face t' go with the smell. Be seein' ya."

* * *

The outskirts of Ottawa were beginning to settle into a striped pattern of clean and dirty snow. Telephone poles were now joined by high-voltage wires from time to time, and long, empty fields stretched out in all directions. Wolverine had been driving overnight, and his nose and cheeks felt frozen. Probably were. He was also being followed, but that could be a good thing. A charcoal-colored Chevy pickup truck had been pacing him for a good seventy miles, always keeping back far enough to blend in nicely with the early morning traffic. Wolverine saw a rest stop up ahead, and pulled over. It wasn't much, just a gravel patch, a hutch with a plastic-cased map on one side, and a port-o-john chained to the leeward side of a wooden snow break.

Logan parked his bike, and got off, stiffly. He walked over to stand by the hutch, but didn't look at the map. Logan stretched his arms over his head, moved his wrists a little, and cracked his neck a few times. Feeling somewhat better, Logan shoved his leather-gloved hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, and waited.

The Chevy knew the game was up, and pulled into the rest stop as well, parking about fifty feet away from Logan's bike. Sabretooth got out, retrieved a tan cowboy hat from the passenger's side, and crammed it on his head. Creed looked tall, gold, scruffy, dangerous, and completely familiar. Logan waited. Creed walked over, and looked at him for a moment, uncomfortably. Then he lit a cigar, and pretended to check the map. The scratched transparent plastic caught Logan's expression well enough.

"Hey, runt."

"Creed," Wolverine acknowledged him, somehow making it sound like an insult.

"Talk," Creed shrugged.

"I know you," Wolverine stated. Sabretooth froze, and in the dingy reflection of the map cover, made eye contact. There was no lie in his eyes.

"Well it's about time," he said, roughly.

"I don't remember everything," Wolverine cautioned.

"Huh," Creed turned and looked down at Logan for a long moment. Then he took the cigar out of his mouth with one hand, and walked over in two paces. Wolverine stood his ground, wanting to know Sabretooth's thoughts- -and his- -worse than he wanted to attack or get out of arm's reach. Creed put his free hand at the back of Logan's neck, and pulled the other man tight to his chest, bending his face down to breathe in the scent of Logan's hair, and securing him with his other arm, not quite burning Logan's jacket with the cigar. Creed's breathing was tight, and the cigar smoke Creed brought with him was hot and familiar against the side of Logan's neck.

Sabretooth was trembling. It was just enough to be perceptible, and it didn't mean he was trustworthy, but it gave away a few things that Logan was glad to know. Logan decided not to mention it.

Somehow, with the distance between him and his long-time enemy reduced to zero, and smoke in his hair, Logan felt a peace he had no name for. Creed's heart was against his ear, the beats loud and fast. Sabretooth couldn't fake this. Logan noticed that his hands were clenched into fists in the brown leather of Creed's jacket, holding onto him, but didn't move them.

This was wrong. This was horribly, disastrously wrong, but...

/I can't do this. HE can't.

I can, and I will, and fuck it, he's warm.

I can't forgive him this easily. He don't deserve that.

It's gonna be a long, hard road...

But... I know him. He's worth it, if only just.

I can't let this go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But we both need...

Now./

A few minutes later, the horn of a red suburban intruded on the moment. Sabretooth glared at the driver over the tufts of Wolverine's hair, and the horn stopped abruptly.

"Asshole..." Creed muttered, putting the cigar back in his mouth and stepping back a pace. /I am gonna-/

"Wanna get some breakfast?" Logan asked, knowing all too well what that look meant.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Follow me out," Creed agreed, giving the order casually.

/He don't ask, but I don' think he's tryin' ta piss me off.../ Wolverine's train of thought was interrupted by Sabretooth kissing him. Really, really well, as a matter of fact. In front of the sky, the early-morning highway traffic, and the terrorized driver of the red suburban.

/I'm gonna have t'lay down some rules.../ thought Wolverine.

* * *

Sometime later found them at a Waffle House, finishing off a really big pile of bacon and scrambled eggs. Logan caught Creed looking at him from time to time, and was often caught himself, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to talk until the food was gone. A waitress came by and re-filled their coffee cups. Doris was a 40's-ish woman with imprecise makeup. Wolverine thanked her with a sound that could have been a word, and Sabretooth said nothing. Doris didn't look surprised.

"Creed..." Logan began.

"Yeah?"

"I ain't gonna sleep with you."

"Right," Creed drank some of his coffee. Logan couldn't tell whether or not Creed was being sarcastic, but he let it ride.

"You gonna keep following me?"

"Want me to travel with you?" Sabretooth asked.

"No."

"Then yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"'Cause the last time ya went for a beer run on yer lonesome, ya never came back."

"Huh," Logan had some coffee. As sweet as this was by their unique standards, Wolverine was not happy with the idea of being shadowed by Creed for the rest of his life.

"Don' get yer shorts in a twist," Creed smirked, "-y'know we're a hundred times harder to kill when we team up."

"Yer missin' the point," Wolverine growled.

"You'll see," Sabretooth winked at him.

/Like hell I will/ thought Logan, shrugging into his jacket. At the door, it occurred to him that he'd stuck Vic with the check, but he kept walking.

Doris looked like she could handle him.

* * *

Memorial day weekend at the X-mansion was a ZOO. The sun beat down, the mosquitoes were out, and the thrashing pool sparkled like lit magnesium. This year a few of the students' families were there. Most of the moms were looking alternately amazed, uncomfortable, and bored. The little brothers and sisters contingent thought this place beat Disneyland hands down, and the dads were trying to look unimpressed and skillful on the BBQ.

Wolverine had elected to be the lifeguard this year, mostly because it gave him a perch well above the party, and a measure of relative peace and quiet. Jean was in the pool below, a painfully well-cut red bathing suit working to her best advantage, and completely focused on the game of water polo in progress around her. Scott, who was on the other team, had a whistle around his neck, and seemed to be working on some strategy with Rogue and Iceman. Out across the basketball court and the lawn, the woods shimmered slightly in the early summer heat.

Coming back to the X-mansion had been a tough call, but wherever he went in the world, Sabretooth seemed to always show up sooner or later. Logan didn't like it. It wasn't like Creed was intrusive, he always kept his distance and didn't allow himself to be caught, but Wolverine was most definitely being stalked. Xavier had known something was up, of course. Wolverine had told him about his shadow without getting into the details, and professor X had simply nodded after a moment, gravely. Wolverine realized belatedly the degree to which professor X factored in his numerous enemies as part of the package, and knowing which one it was this month was almost a plus.

Well, this was the man who had dealt with MAGNETO on a daily basis...

* * *

A faint sound snapped Logan's attention back to the present. It was a child's laugh, but it was coming from the woods, not the pool or the mansion, and the kids had been specifically warned to stay near the house, or else. Logan dropped to the concrete deck, and threw his lifeguard's whistle to Storm. She caught it, and in the instant that they made eye contact, she caught Logan's meaning: There's trouble. I'm taking care of it. Tell Xavier, but don't make a scene.

Logan stalked off quickly in the direction of the woods. He stuck to the tree line, and once out of sight of the pool, he broke into a dead run. He didn't know what he would find, but he was both disappointed and relieved when he found his quarry, right on the edge of the forest. She was about four, and the same shade of Midwestern blonde that Cannonball and Husk were. In a scene that was somewhat reminiscent of Alice and the Cheshire cat, she was talking to Sabretooth, who was sitting about twelve feet above her in a maple tree, grinning enough to fit the part. He was barefoot, and dressed in a pair of jeans and an open flannel shirt, both cutoffs. He looked like some nightmare version of Tom Sawyer.

"Lose somethin'?" he asked, smugly. Wolverine's eyes flashed dangerously, and he moved to stand beside the little girl. The child looked up at Wolverine, and then back at Sabretooth, dubiously.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Nope," said Wolverine "-y' not in trouble."

Sabretooth dropped to the ground beside them, lightly for someone that big, and grinned down at Wolverine.

"Nice trunks," he observed.

"Shove it," Wolverine snarled, softly. Sabretooth ignored this.

"Amelia 'ere was tellin' me all about her big brother and sister who go t' the Xavier school," Sabretooth explained.

"Really," Wolverine said, deadpan.

"Uh-huh," Sabretooth murmured. Amelia tugged on Logan's hand.

"What's his name?" She whispered.

"Uh-"

"Tiger," Sabretooth answered for him, glibly.

"Yeah, e's a cat. Lives in th' trees," Wolverine agreed, carefully.

"A -cat-?" Amelia said, amazed. "I've never seen a cat like that before. Are you sure he's a cat?"

"Look at his claws," Wolverine said, logically.

Sabretooth laughed.

Amelia nodded thoughtfully, eyeing the claws on Sabretooth's toes.

"Can anybody else see him?" she asked.

"Not usually," said Wolverine.

"Guess I'm pretty lucky then," Amelia decided, smiling.

"Yer right about that, kid. An' we should really be gettin' back to the party now."

"Do you have to?" Sabretooth asked.

"Yes," Wolverine shot him a warning glare over Amelia's head.

"I don't wanna go..." Amelia whined.

"Yer mom's probably wonderin' where you are," Wolverine pointed out.

Amelia thought about that. Wolverine took her hand, and started walking away.

"Bye Tiger!" Amelia called back to Sabretooth, waving. Sabretooth waved in return, and then vanished into the trees.

Despite the heat, Wolverine felt cold on the walk back to the mansion.

* * *

That night, Professor X called a meeting in his study. Scott, Jean, Rogue, Gambit, Beast, Storm, Iceman, and Psylocke were in attendance. Wolverine was just there.

"I know it's been a long day, and while some of you feel this meeting should have happened earlier, others have told me it's not necessary at all. Bear with me. As you all know, Sabretooth has been sighted on the grounds. While he hasn't actually done any damage yet, we know from experience just how little that means. Logan, any thoughts?"

"Yeah. If I leave, e'll follow," Logan folded his arms.

"Are you certain of this?" Xavier asked.

"Can ya protect the mansion fer a day or two until I'm sure 'e did?" Logan retorted.

"What's going on, Wolverine?" Scott demanded. "Who's Sabretooth working for?"

/Of course, Scott doesn't see Creed as having any motivations other than someone holding his leash/ Logan thought. /-Too bad that's not true./

"Nobody, dammit! He's in business for himself," Logan snarled, "-now we can do this one o' two ways. I deal with 'im, and you deal with 'im. Door number one, I know what I'm doin'. Door number two, you've tried rehabilitatin' him before, so you're basically just askin' for my permission to grab the posse and kill 'im, and I won't have it."

"Logan, none of us operate that way, and you know it," Jean reminded him.

/The hell we don't/ Logan thought, looking Jean in the eyes.

/What's really going on?/ Jean asked him mentally, before the chance was lost.

/Old habits die hard, Jeannie/ Logan replied, obtusely. As he broke the eye contact, Jean got the impression of a soft heat against the left side of her face, and the scent of cigar smoke. She hadn't meant to catch those, but Logan wasn't shielding very well, almost like he was projecting his thoughts intentionally. Jean had seen Logan's thoughts before. They shifted like a dark storm, never fully conscious even when he seemed otherwise awake, but subject to brief flashes of clarity and emotion that could have powered a star cruiser. She never really meant to look, but...

-Sooner or later, every girl wonders what she would look like on the playboy channel, right?

Something was going on in Logan's head right now that was just plain unfamiliar, and Jean didn't know what to make of it. His thoughts felt more clear than usual though, and she decided to back him up. If Logan said he could deal with Sabretooth, maybe he could. Jean looked back up to find Scott scowling at Logan, and Xavier looking at her reproachfully.

/I wasn't scanning, he was thinking to me/ Jean assured her teacher, with a mental roll of the eyes. Psylocke raised an eyebrow at the two other telepaths, but didn't comment.

"Uh, hello?" Iceman looked from one silent teammate to another. "Anybody wanna do subtitles?"

"Chuck, you shouldn' have called a meetin' for this. I'm leavin' in th' morning. Sabretooth's mine, and I'll deal with 'im. My life ain't a fuckin' democracy- -eat it an' like it," Logan left the table, motions tightly controlled and tense.

After the door thudded shut behind Wolverine, his teammates looked around at each other.

"Sabretooth?!" Rogue broke out finally, "And y'all are just gonna let him go?" she added, looking at Gambit.

"Dis ain't my fight," Gambit said, standing his ground, "Mebbe Canada know sometin' we don't."

"Maybe you just don't like the thought of havin' Sabretooth around," Rogue shot back.

Psylocke and Beast left, Beast casting a glance back over his shoulder.

"I'm with Gumbo on this one," Iceman stated, "-besides, how am I supposed to have anything to say when I can only hear half the conversation? -Sheesh."

"Well, I guess the meetin's over then..." Rogue walked out. Gambit watched her go unhappily, and followed half a minute later. Iceman went with him.

"That could have gone better," sighed Professor X.

Scott finished his mental notes on how to how to get his team back together- -something he was used to doing whenever Logan wigged out on him- -and looked from his wife to Xavier, to Storm.

"Look, I don't know Logan as well as any of the three of you do. Frankly, I don't want to, but I do need to know if he's in trouble he can't handle. Is he?"

"Only Logan really knows the answer to that, but he does have allies outside the X-men. He might be thinking of asking one of them for help instead of us," said Storm.

"Pride?" Scott asked.

"That and our base of operations," Storm nodded, "-for someone of Sabretooth's skills, the school would be an easy target. We have already seen how well the proximity detectors work against him."

"I sensed a lot of conflict from Logan, but an unusual degree of clarity too. HE thinks he knows what he's doing," Jean volunteered.

"Professor?" Scott looked at Xavier.

"The only way to stop Logan from leaving is to restrain him, and even if that could be done, I for one don't want to know what Sabretooth's idea of a 'rescue' would be."

"Agreed," Scott said, grimly. The three younger X-men started to leave.

"Jean, may I have a word with you alone?" Xavier called after them.

* * *

Beast looked up, somewhat surprised.

"Logan. What help can I offer you?" -the unsaid 'didn't seem like you wanted anybody's help' did not go unnoticed.

"I don't take interventions kindly," Logan shrugged, by way of an apology.

"So, what brings you all the way down here?" Beast asked, in a less hostile tone.

"Information. I need t' know- -I-" Logan broke off for a moment, then continued more coherently. "Sabretooth. We've got the same stuff. What is 'e, my cousin or somethin'?"

"You want to know the genetic relationship between you and Sabretooth." Beast stated.

"Yeah."

"I can do that. We have his blood on file. Mostly frozen on scraps of fabric from your old uniforms, as a matter of fact," Beast smiled, with his fangs.

* * *

After a while, Wolverine brought his duffel bag down to the lab with him. -He was leaving through the garage anyway, and he didn't want to run into the others over breakfast.

"Well, that's that," Beast adjusted his glasses.

"What have you got?" Wolverine looked at the screen, but it just looked like a couple of partially overlapping frequency diagrams.

"You aren't related to Sabretooth, at least not within the last ten generations, but your mutations are damn near genetically identical. It's very striking. -Uncanny, you might say."

Wolverine snorted.

"So what's got ya so int'rested, Hank?"

"That image up there has about as many anomalies as a photograph of deep space. Your DNA in particular. Take this section here," Beast keyed in a magnification on part of the diagram. "This indicates a keyed chemical trigger, and in this strand, it's inactive. Over here-"

"You're sayin' Creed's genes are more Human than mine?" Logan wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.

"Not by much, but yes. It's probably the claws, which Sabretooth doesn't have. Something else that may interest you, you're at least a second-generation mutant."

"Really?" Wolverine hadn't even considered that, once Sabretooth was ruled out as his father.

"Yes. Most mutations tend to shift drastically in form from one generation to the next, for example a speedster might have a daughter with heat powers, but in your case, I'm almost certain that one of your parents was a Mutant with similar powers. I'm really quite glad you-"

"What about Syren an' Banshee?" Wolverine pointed out.

"The exception that proves the rule... though her genetics are stabilized too. This could be a trend in second or third generation mutants..." Beast hurriedly made some notes.

"Ay, Hank-" Logan began, shouldering his duffel bag.

"Yes?" McCoy looked up from the keyboard.

"Thanks."

"You're most welcome."

* * *

It was good to have the wind on his face again. Wolverine rode South, keeping to the seaward roads. Down through Pennsylvania and Maryland, then into West Virginia. As he'd assumed, Sabretooth came with him. He even drove alongside Wolverine's motorbike for a while, but Wolverine slashed the right front truck tire and gunned the bike's engine before Sabretooth could follow him.

He rode all night after that, changing direction often, trying to lose his pursuer in the hills and hollers of what became Kentucky by dawn. He needed time, and he wanted distance. And he also needed a plan, because while evading Sabretooth had featured in his life often enough before, Wolverine didn't want to make a life of it. Frankly, he had better things to do. That left confrontation or deception. He could face Sabretooth and kill him, he could give the whole 'stronger when we team up' thing another try, or he could arrange for a third party to capture and keep Sabretooth, such as SHIELD.

Deception wasn't his style though, and hell, he didn't want to kill 'im...

But just as certainly, he couldn't let Sabretooth win. That wasn't in his nature either.

Wolverine wondered if he'd run into this problem before, and smirked at the thought.

He had to get Sabretooth away from the 'you're my bitch' idea, that would be a good place to start. That demanded an equal footing though, and as long as Sabretooth remembered the past and he didn't, Sabretooth would hold that over him.

And what of the stuff in the dreams?

The stuff in the cave with the rock drill had happened, more or less, but the details could well be wrong. Memory implants were tricky things, and while it hadn't occurred to him that even the Weapon X project would go that low, who the hell really knew? Last winter with the tow truck chain had happened, but there'd been serious provocation involved, and if the cave thing had gone down differently than he remembered, maybe HE was the one who had tortured Sabretooth first. Which was a very strange thought. ...Besides, Creed hadn't minded the chains so much, just the-

No. Fuck it. Maybe the past needed to stay where it was.

The future, that was the question.

Any kind of physical restraint, Sabretooth would eventually get out of, and it might give him ideas. That left mental control, something that Sabretooth really sucked at, even when he was willingly trying to restrain himself. Wolverine wasn't a telepath, and while his will was incredibly strong, Sabretooth's was equal to it.

And that left respect, which he should have thought of first anyway, even if it wasn't Sabretooth's strong point either. Sabretooth respected the fact that Logan could kick his ass, but the reverse was also true. He respected Logan's tactical ability and deadly finesse, but usually in retrospect rather than real time.

Thinking this over, Wolverine realized that his skills as a warrior and hunter were probably the only thing Sabretooth had any respect for, period. He didn't respect authority, personal rights, life, or even himself, beyond the all-powerful equalizer of combat effectiveness.

So basically, Sabretooth held Wolverine in the same esteem he held himself, and thought the rest of the world was a cage of scared white mice, which by comparison was often true.

A cage...

He was already in a cage with Creed, a cage called time, and no matter how many times Logan out-witted or out-fought his nemesis, there would always be a next time. Maybe this had nothing to do with what they wanted. Maybe they needed each other to exist because the thought of looking down the barrel of forever alone would be enough to drive either one mad.

/Fuckin' morbid this morning./ Logan thought.

Maybe Sabretooth had a purpose. Maybe he was the answer to self-righteous and inflexible superheroes the way Wolverine was the answer to evil sons-of-bitches that needed to be put down. The cosmic check that came due just when you thought you'd dodged it successfully. They were both good at that library policeman routine.

* * *

Four days later, Sabretooth spotted Logan's bike parked outside of a roadside bar. It was between two hills, with a dusty parking lot, dark wooden siding, and neon signs for Miller, Coors, and a local brew called Pronghorn Fix. Sabretooth looked the place over with a glance, matter-of-factly stole a small but vital part off of Logan's Harley's ignition system, and pocketed it. Then he went in. The owner, a thin, balding man, looked up from the glass he was drying to see who had come in and then looked back down, disinterested. Elsewhere in the bar were some booths along the far wall, a pool table in the corner by the narrow front window, and several small round tables in the middle of the room. At three o'clock, the bar was mostly empty, but there was a smattering of die-hard drunks, and a young brunette leaning fetchingly over the pool table as she read the classifieds. Logan was sitting at the bar.

"Logan..." Sabretooth took the stool next to his at the bar.

"Creed," Logan greeted him, evenly.

"Can a man get a drink around here?" Sabretooth asked, eyeing Logan's bottle of bourbon.

"Try askin' him," Logan nodded towards the barman.

"Huh," Sabretooth took the bottle anyway, and drank about four shots worth without a glass. Then the end of the bottle shattered sideways explosively, and Logan's fist was wet.

Sabretooth laughed, and ordered another bottle.

"Want some?"

"Sure."

"Tough," Sabretooth upended the bottle.

"You're getting soft," Wolverine observed, when the bottle came down only half empty.

"Don't start what ya can't finish, runt."

Logan took up the bottle, and finished it.

The barman was watching them now.

Logan got the next round.

"Logan?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Why're you tryin' a' get me drunk? Y'know you're just gonna lose..."

"Ah win sometimes," Logan insisted.

"Th' hell ya do."

"Th' hell I don't."

"Th' hell ya-"

"'Ey," Logan interrupted.

"Huh?" Creed lost his train of thought.

"Talk ta me."

"What about?"

"Don' care," Logan shrugged, "-make sense fer once."

"Sneaky li'l cuss."

"Well?"

"What you got figured?" asked Creed, half-serious.

"Yer not my dad," Logan told him, deadpan.

"Man, I hope not!" Snickered Creed. "What else?"

"Yer persistent."

" 'M I gettin' anywhere?"

"Nah," Logan swirled the whiskey around in the bottom of the bottle, "-but you ain't exactly helpin' either."

"The fuck d'ya mean by that?" Creed bristled.

"If yer so pissed I don' remember, whyn't ya say somethin'?"

"'Cause," Creed told him, through set teeth, "YOU. FORGET. EVERYTHIN'."

"Y'serious?" Logan blinked.

"Wish I wasn't," Creed confiscated the bottle, and took it down a few fingers.

There was a silence.

Logan folded his arms on the bar-top, and lay his head on them.

"HEY!" Creed shook his shoulder, roughly.

"Wha?" Logan looked up.

"Nothin'," Creed glanced at the the floor for a moment, "-you wanna go?"

"With you? Nah."

"Logan-" Creed began, dangerously.

"M'good here," Logan insisted.

"Fine," snarled Creed, "You wanna hint? He's in Canada. Go fetch."

"Canada," Logan nodded, "gotcha."

/Blitzed/ thought Creed.

"C'mon," Creed slid Logan off the bar stool with one arm around his shoulders, just a bit clumsily. They made it out into the parking lot, and somehow, all the way to Creed's truck.

Creed lost equilibrium at that point, and leaned back against the passenger's side door. Logan was in front of him, molding comfortably against his chest. It felt fantastic. Creed put his face down into Logan's dark, scruffy hair, sniffing him. He smelled even better than he felt, an uncontrived mix of leather, bourbon, and warm darkness. There was even a trace of blood on his knuckles, from breaking the bottle earlier. Logan looked up, eyes somewhat clearer than they'd been a few minutes ago. Creed licked the left side of Logan's face, between cheekbone and ear, then again just behind his eye. Logan closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against Creed's chest. Creed turned Logan's face back up towards him, but was met with an exceedingly cold warning glare.

/-Enough./

Creed opened the door of the truck, and climbed wearily inside. Logan followed, shut the door on the second attempt, curled up loosely on the seat beside Creed, and slept.

Creed watched him for a minute or two, then dipped his fingers into Logan's hair, and felt the texture. Then he slept as well, head on the back window.

* * *

/Yellow.

Hot.

Mist in the dark.

A waterfall, fifty feet high, with green bushes hanging along the sides, liquid splashing down around the rocks at the top. Sitting on one, a cross legged figure with a cowboy hat sat fishing, line dangling in the pool below.

Creed looked up carefully, and saw the raw, wet edge of the artery, which somehow didn't look out of place, twelve feet across and set into a hillside. The waterfall was blood, then. He smiled softly, and walked over to the edge of the pool beneath the falls. Creed took off his hat, and dipped it into the pool. It felt warm against his fingers. As he lifted the hat to drink from it, a reflection of the sun caught the glistening surface tension, and he saw that it was clear stream water after all, but he drank it anyway. On his lips it was warm, but in his throat it turned cold. When he looked up at the rocks above, Logan was standing, coiling up the rope he'd been trailing in the waterfall pool, watching him. When he had all the rope in hand, Logan turned and disappeared over the edge of the waterfall, upstream.

"HEY!" Creed called after him. He was angry. Something distracted him though, and he looked down at the dregs of the water in his hat. The water was glowing, just enough to be visible. He felt the water he'd already drunk doing the same, and Creed's skin was flushed with it. He crammed his hat on, water and all, and looked down at his hands.

Then he started laughing, and it echoed through the whole valley like victory./

* * *

Logan's first thought upon waking that morning, was that his mouth felt dry. He swallowed a few times, and sat up carefully. He was in Creed 's truck, and it was stuffy. Sabretooth was sitting in the driver's seat, and his head had fallen forward in sleep, chin on his chest. He would be awake soon, Logan knew. Logan's thoughts were moving slowly enough that he could catch them this morning.

Sleeping on the road with Creed felt familiar. Not in this truck, though. /Can't go home like this... X-Men'd be scared, and Canada'd feel like bein' locked in a room./

So then, where?

Logan wanted to know who he was traveling with, and there was only one place to do that properly. He reached over and poked Sabretooth in the ribs.

"Wake up, bub."

A pair of eyes like liquid oxygen opened and looked back at him, squinting hard against the morning sun.

"Eh?" the sound -could- have been a word...

"We're going to Africa," Logan told him.

"Merc?" Creed guessed, interested.

"Yeah."

"You know I'm in," Creed grinned.

"At's why I said 'we'," Logan replied.

* * *

"Wolvie!" Jubilee's gleeful shout turned heads on both ends of the telephone line.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Where are you? I mean, you-"

"Ju-"

"Like, did you get away, or-?"

"J-"

"Everybody's-"

"CALM DOWN, GIRL!" Wolverine shouted.

Silence, and someone asking Jubilee a question in the background.

"Yeah, it is-" Jubilee answered, then added an indignant, "-no, I won't 'give you the phone'. Ah," Jubilee put the phone back up to her mouth, "-you were saying?"

"What are you doin' back at the Mansion? I thought ya were with Generation X."

"I drove out for the weekend," Jubilee told him, lightly, "-where are YOU?"

"I'm in Kentucky, and I'm goin' ta Africa from here."

"AFRICA? What's in Africa?"

"Not much o' anything," /-Nice, that is.../ "-at's why I'm goin'."

"Africa... cool," Jubilee decided, "-call me?"

"I'll send ya a letter," Wolverine promised.

"Maybe I'll send her a present..." mused Creed, baiting him.

"Keep yer ears t' yerself," Wolverine admonished, with a somewhat double meaning.

"Who are you talking to?" Jubilee asked.

/SHIT!/ thought Wolverine. ...He should have seen this coming. Lie, or-

"Creed," He answered flatly. He could hear the indrawn breath.

"As in... Sabretooth?" Jubilee asked, quietly.

"Yeah."

"I- -don't understand," she said, with a degree of maturity that might be new.

"What'd 'e do last time?" Wolverine asked.

"He just like, stalked the mansion, right?" she answered, reluctantly.

"An' what's 'e don' now?"

"Nothing- -I hope?"

"Exactly."

"I still don't understand this," decided Jubilee.

"I'll be okay, kid. Really."

"Um, right. Listen, do you wanna talk to Hank? He's hanging off the banister trying to get the phone."

"Okay. Take care of yourself. I'll call you when I get back," Logan told her.

"Logan? Hello?" Hank's voice came on the line.

"Yeah. How's things?"

"Good. Good, the stabilization theory is really panning out. I understand Creed's there with you?"

"What of it?"

"Ask him if he thinks Kyle Gibney could be his son."

"Uh..." Logan turned to Creed, trying to decide what to say. One look at the other man's shocked and disturbed countenance told him Creed had already heard the question.

"Why is he askin' that?" Creed demanded.

"He's researching."

"What th' fuck does he-" Creed broke off, "-Logan, tell me straight, no X-Men solidarity bullshit. What kind o' 'doctor' is this?"

"McCoy's the best," Logan kept it simple.

"Would ya let 'im put you under?"

This question was loaded for both of them.

"Yeah, I would."

Creed looked at the receiver as if it was covered with fire ants.

"He is, isn't he," Logan stated. He KNEW this.

"Kyle's mine," confirmed Sabretooth shortly, looking anywhere but Logan or the phone.

Logan suddenly wished Hank wasn't on the other end of the line. This was something incredibly personal of Creed's, and to have it basically rattled out of him didn't taste right. Too late now, though. Hank's ears were almost as good as theirs. Hank was saying something, but Creed's face was a lot louder.

"I gotta go," Wolverine cut Beast off.

"If I-"

"G'bye, Hank," Logan hung up.

* * *

Creed scowled at the trees across the parking lot, as if he bitterly regretted tracking down Wolverine in the first place.

/I didn' know/ Logan thought. /I mean, I always figured that's how it went down, but ta hear it from him.../

"Kyle's what ya were tellin' me ta look for in Canada. Isn't he."

"You got it."

"You could 'o told me."

"Yeah, right," Creed snorted.

"The Weapon X labs," Logan said, almost to himself as he put the pieces together, "-at's what ya meant by, 'they made 'im like that'. Cornelius really went that low. He gave th' kid Adamantium, an' it backfired- -like lead poisoning."

"Logan, shut up," snarled Creed.

Logan shut up, and felt like a shit for going to McCoy and starting this train of events. He also felt that Creed had been wrong to keep this from him, and the contradiction was giving him a really nasty headache.

Sabretooth was growling, deep in his chest. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to hide the connection between Kyle and himself, probably the only reason the boy was still alive, and now his hard-won secrecy was shot to hell.

Making a mental note to find McCoy later to have a 'word' with him about discretion, Sabretooth planned his next move. It wasn't supposed to have gone down like that, Logan wasn't supposed to find that out anything serious until later! It was too much too fast, and if McCoy kept digging like this, he was going to destroy years of work and patience. Creed's silence was for the most part, an act so that Logan would back off about Kyle. If Logan got any closer to home on that subject, he would memory-crash like he did during the fuck-up in '86. If they'd gone to Africa WITHOUT calling the happy mutie farm, that would have worked out just fine. NOW Logan would want to go to Canada and find Kyle. Just great.

Then again, Kyle didn't really know anything...

Creed thought about the way Logan had trained Kyle to fight and think, as a teenager. Alpha Flight had all but written the boy off, and then unexpectedly, Logan dropped whatever else he had been doing at the time, and taken the time to reach him. Wildchild, Wildheart, Weapon Omega, just plain Kyle. The boy had done good. Kyle was still a lot younger upstairs than a Human of his age would have been, though.

Maybe Kyle WAS just what the doctor ordered...

* * *

Back on the road, Logan suspected he'd pushed Creed way, way too far. For one thing, Creed had let him drive, and was sulking in the passenger's seat with the window rolled all the way down, forestalling any conversation. Logan's bike was useless in the back of the truck, since Creed's idea of what to sabotage hadn't been particularly bright.

Logan drove North, out of Kentucky into Ohio, and from there into Michigan. With the Canadian border a mile or so up ahead, Logan stopped at a Motel 6. Creed stayed in the truck. Logan secured a room, and came back.

"Not exactly your style," Creed observed.

"Silence ain't yours. You comin' or not?"

Creed followed him. Aside from an amused snort when he saw that the room had two beds, he didn't say much else. He took over the bathroom and showered.

Instead of making Creed's scent fainter, the water just got rid of the road-trip-stink part of it, and the steam from under the bathroom door seemed to get into every corner of the otherwise boring room. Man, he smelled good. And he was doing this on purpose.

Logan opened the window, and leaned partway out of it, elbows on the windowsill.

Creed was a hedonist when it came to hot water, especially since he couldn't always get it in the past. Logan remembered noticing the same thing in the 1930's, somewhere with a wooden plank floor. This scent, and wood-dust, and chipped white enamel. Suspenders. Creed's eyes laughing at him over the top of the tub. Irritation. The steam fogging up the small glass window, black from the night outside. -He couldn't hear the words.

Behind him, Logan heard the bathroom door open. He didn't turn.

Sabretooth padded across the carpet to stand behind him, and placed both hands on Logan's shoulders. Logan could feel the heat of the shower in Creed's hands, and through the back of the flannel shirt he was wearing. Creed's scent was all around him, burning Logan's skin on contact, and his heartbeat sounded loud in his own ears.

Creed licked the back of Logan's neck, just below his left ear. Logan shivered involuntarily.

"Reconsidered yet?" Creed whispered.

Dilemma.

/I can do this./ Logan thought, /He would let me, and knowing how seriously Creed takes sex, not much would change. -Okay, I am now lying.

I-...

I would. Right here, right now.

If I trusted him.

...But I don't./

"No," The word -sounded- steady, at least. There was a hiss in his ear. The kind of noise that was usually followed by a blow. Then Creed was gone, and the door to the room slammed. Logan glared at the cars passing on the street below, and shut the window with a low growl of frustration.

* * *

When Sabretooth returned around one in the morning, his mood hadn't improved much. He was tired. He wanted to go out and kill. That would set back his main hunt, which was why he hadn't already done it, but dammit!

He wanted Logan this night. A fuck, a fight, anything to crack this pressure so he could feel halfway sane again. He couldn't DO this tame shit. He'd never been so close to having Logan back, but the X-Man version of Wolverine was driving him nuts. Logan understood him, and if he could just keep from alienating this 'Wolvie' sonofabitch long enough...

Creed opened the door, and didn't turn on the light. He closed the door, and threw the towel he'd been wearing in the general direction of the closet. It hit the wall with a muffled thwap, and slid down to the carpet.

Maybe he should leave. Disappear for a week or so while Logan and Kyle re-bonded, find somewhere he could do some major carnage, rub one out afterwards.

Might be a good idea.

Then he caught Logan's scent. Logan had stayed. Of course he had stayed. He had the balls to fall asleep in the presence of someone his memories insisted was dangerous to him, because his instincts told him otherwise. He'd risk his neck any day of the week, give total strangers the opportunity to kill him over some random moral principle-

/But when it comes to me, I'm still the bad guy.../ Creed thought, bitterly. /Logan trusts me with his life, but not with his rep. -Ain't that a kick in the teeth./

* * *

Sabretooth could see Logan's shape in the bed by the window, curled on his right side, arms slightly folded. He knew that pose. It was the position from which Logan could pop his right set of claws and defend himself within a split-second of waking.

/-Nervous, bub?/ thought Creed, with a predatory grin. There was a counter to Logan's sleep-position, and he knew it well. Creed reached over Logan's shoulder, looking to grab his quarry's left wrist, when the wrist in question whipped out of his reach, and the claws of Logan's right hand sunk deep into the meat of Sabretooth's chest.

From underneath him on the bed, Logan's eyes looked up into his disgustedly.

"I knew you'd slip up."

"AAaararrrghh...!" With the shock fading into rage, Sabretooth gave a choked shout as the pain in his chest registered. The bone claws hurt more going in than their Adamantium counterparts. He'd forgotten that. Sabretooth snatched Logan's left wrist viciously and pinned it into the mattress at waist level, then reached up to deal with the right hand. Logan pushed his claws in up to his knuckles, and didn't give an inch. The entry wounds were high on the left side of Creed's chest, almost to the shoulder, so his left arm wasn't working as well. He couldn't move Logan an inch. Momentary stalemate.

"You wanna get off me?" Logan growled.

"Nno," Creed snarled.

"Have it your way," Logan retracted his claws suddenly, and combined a backhand with a kick that sent Creed halfway across the room.

"Always gotta be fuckin' difficult," spat Creed, standing unsteadily. Blood flowed freely down his chest, back, and left arm, warm against his skin. Tensed to spring at the end of the bed, both sets of claws out, Wolverine was covered in Sabretooth's blood as well.

"That's right. I told ya once."

"Wha'd you do that for?!" Creed demanded, "You WANT me, I can smell it all over this place..."

"Unlike one of us, I don' always ACT on my stupid impulses," Logan shot back.

"Stupid, huh?" Sabretooth's chest was healing. It would be finished in a minute or two, if Logan kept talking.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Yeah, what is it?" Logan called, not taking his eyes off Creed.

"There's been a complaint about the noise. Are you okay in there?"

"Do ya flamin' MIND?!" yelled Creed.

"...Ahh... ...Sorry," the motel employee stumbled, "-just, remember there's people next door, please."

Creed started laughing.

"Alright," Logan called back. A moment later, both of them heard feet moving away from the door.

Logan and Creed looked at each other for a long moment, with no sound but each other's breathing, and blood dripping on the carpet. -If the motel guy was mad now...

"Creed?" Logan asked, finally.

"Yeah?"

"Why'd ya fuck this up?"

"You wanted me ta-?"

"Maybe." Logan sheathed his claws.

"Why'd you shy off?"

"Ta see if you'd let me." Logan told him.

"Shit," muttered Creed.

-


	2. What the Hell

Chapter 2: What the Hell

Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth  
Rating: NC-17/M  
Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.

Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured.

Summary: Secrets have a nasty habit of sneaking up on you...

* * *

Heather Hudson hadn't said why Kyle was in Toronto instead of with the rest of Alpha Flight, but she had finally contacted him, and Kyle had agreed to a meeting. Logan had a number, but that was all. When he figured out how to approach Kyle about the 'hey kid I found your dad' thing, he was going to call him.

Creed, who had been no help whatsoever so far, was trailing about ten feet behind Logan and looking at the buildings along the clean, tree-lined streets as if casing them for future B&E.

Maybe he should have just ditched Sabretooth and come alone. It wasn't like Creed had ever shown much interest before, and he'd known about Wildchild long ago.

Logan's shoulders were hunched forward, and his hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. It was too hot for the jacket, but he didn't want to take it off.

"Hey Logan!"

"What?"

"Are we gonna circle this burg again, or have you decided what you're gonna do?" Creed asked.

Logan stopped walking.

"Y'know what? I have. YOU took this long t' tell 'im, YOU figure it out."

Creed chuckled to himself.

"Took ya long enough."

Logan favored him with a withering glare.

"What's your plan?"

"New Jersey vs. Toronto, tomorrow night."

"Toronto hasn' touched the cup since '67," Logan pointed out, dubiously.

"Then they're about due, right? 'Sides, it's a home game."

Logan shrugged.

"This is gonna be a lot harder'n you think, 'dad'."

"Yeah, keep remindin' me," Creed snapped.

/He waited to do this until I could come with him as backup/ Logan realized. /Not so tough after all... Or maybe he's just using me to get Kyle's trust./

"Creed?"

"Yeah?"

"Kyle's a good kid. Just thought you should know," Logan fished a cigar out of his shirt pocket, and lit it.

"Huh," Sabretooth looked down at Logan thoughtfully. Had he just been reassured, or threatened?

* * *

Wildchild stepped off the downtown bus amidst a blue and white crush of Toronto Maple Leafs' fans. Kyle stood just taller than he thought he was, in scuffed tan work boots, comfortably loose blue jeans, and an incongruous purple t-shirt with cut off sleeves. He pushed a hand through his shaggy blonde mane of hair, tucking what he could behind one ear. -Maybe he should have tied it back? ...Nah. He was skinny, and looked like Jay of 'Jay and Silent Bob' fame cast as the lead in 'Teen Wolf'. There was no getting around it.

Kyle looked around, wanting and not wanting to find the people he'd come to see. He couldn't see them yet, and he couldn't catch their scents, but his 'predator nearby' instincts were going crazy.

Wildchild's history with Sabretooth was sketchy at best. Still, Logan's history with Sabretooth was much worse, and he was here anyway. What did that mean? Was Wolverine here just for moral support, or to keep Creed from destroying him?

/Fuck it./

Kyle lifted his head, and tested the breeze, walking around outside of the hockey stadium. Hot dogs, beer, cotton candy, ...wet dog...?, tightly-packed humanity, and a faint whiff of Freon came to him. And then...

They were there, right there. Standing at the foot of the concrete stairs that led into the arena. His harshest teacher, and...

/My father. Probably./ Kyle swallowed.

Sabretooth was really big and scary. He was unspeakably ripped, and the sideburns that Kyle had only recently been able to grow properly -at all- looked like they could leave severe beard-burn on contact. His light blue eyes were deep, confident, and dangerous, the eyes of something that had spent far too many years at the top of the food chain. Wolverine didn't seem too impressed though, and Kyle found that reassuring. With people moving all around the three of them, Kyle felt like they were alone, and he was walking through a tunnel to get to the stairs.

"Hi Logan," Kyle called, finally. Logan raised a hand in greeting, and tipped his hat up far enough that his dark eyes were visible in the shadow beneath it. Then Kyle looked at his father, and Creed looked at his son, and neither one of them moved. Creed had known he had a son in Alpha Flight, but he'd never copped to it, and to have him HERE, five FEET away, doing a deer-in-the-headlights impression...

And the kid looked just like him. Younger, a bit shorter, but Creed knew that face, and he knew his own blood when he saw it. Logan watched the exchange with a glint of satisfaction at Creed's shock. -'Bout time the jackass realized this was serious.

Kyle's appearance had changed from the last time Logan had seen him. Whatever he'd been taking to look more Human, Kyle had either stopped taking it, or he'd finally built up a tolerance. Kyle wasn't ugly, exactly, and he certainly hadn't reverted back to his original appearance, but his fingernails looked a lot like Creed's claws, and the tips of his fangs were noticeable even with his mouth closed.

"Kyle," Sabretooth said the word as if he was tasting it, fascinated.

"Uhh... ...dad?"

"Yeah," -more silence and staring. Creed started grinning. "You wanna go in, or what?"

Kyle blinked.

"Yeah. Right."

* * *

They got to the rink at about the time the anthem ended, and Logan went off in search of beer, leaving an empty seat between Kyle and Creed that soon became a gulf. Creed thought he caught Kyle sniffing him curiously, but he wasn't sure.

"Got somethin' you wanna ask, kid?" Creed asked, not quite looking at him.

"Nah," said Kyle, quickly.

"Good. Then I won't tell you anythin'."

/He's hunting Logan/ Wildchild thought. /I can smell it on him. Logan can't have missed this. Why is he playing along?/

They watched the game without talking for a while. New Jersey was playing well, but the Maple Leafs' goalie had them stopped cold. If only the rest of the team would get in on the act, they might just win. Kyle's eyes followed the quick, erratic movements of the puck flawlessly. Logan returned with three tall plastic cups. Kyle was surprised. He was of age, but he hadn't expected Wolverine to remember. Still, a beer would taste awfully good right about now...

The Maple Leafs came close to scoring, but were stopped by two red-and-black jerseys just short of taking the shot. Logan scowled at the rink disapprovingly. Kyle bought some malt balls off a passing vendor, and decided to get stupidly sugar-high.

The game continued.

"What the hell was that?" Kyle muttered, watching 'Jersey whisk the puck out from under Toronto's sticks.

"Bad footwork," Logan explained, professionally. "Watch the right wing's skates when 'e tries to change speed."

"HEY, he crosses his feet funny! Does he know he's doin' that?"

"Has to," shrugged Logan, "notice how he always tries ta pass right before he does it?"

Just then, the roar of a fight crowd rose in a wave from the far end of the rink, as one of the Maple Leafs grabbed a fistful of a Jersey Devils' shirt, and was high-sticked on the side of his helmet by a third player. The Maple Leafs couldn't let this pass, of course...

"Now it's getting good," said Creed, watching the fight below with keen interest.

* * *

Penalties were traded, two players were benched, and the game continued. The first period was soon over, with New Jersey leading twelve to three. Kyle followed Logan out into the chaos of the crowd. A steady roar of confused echoes came back to him from the stadium's concrete ceiling and walls, and Kyle's ears flattened slightly in defense. He caught up to Wolverine in the men's room, something that didn't seem to phase Wolverine in the least. Close enough to talk, Kyle found that he couldn't get his tongue unlocked.

"Spit it out," Logan suggested, calmly. Kyle started, not the best of things to do while one is taking a piss, and blushed furiously.

"This isn't... um... what the hell's going on, Logan?"

"It's like I said," Wolverine shrugged, zipping up, "-when I figure that out, I'll let ya know."

"But-" Kyle paused to follow suit, "-this isn't right. Why did he suddenly come see me, hell, why did he stop trying to kill you?"

"You wanna go back to the game or not?" Logan asked.

"Well, we'd better, right?"

"Or what?" Logan pointed out, eyebrow raised.

"Or-" Kyle stopped. /Or the puppy gets beat?/ Kyle thought, ashamed of himself, /-way to keep Logan's respect, Einstein.../ "..."

"Come on," Logan steered Kyle towards a hotdog stand, one hand a solid and comforting presence on the younger Mutant's arm. Several hotdogs later, Kyle was feeling a bit better, though he still thought he'd acted like a wuss.

"Wildheart, you know what it's like to be kicked in the teeth. Stick with Creed, and that may well happen. On the flip-side, how many of our kind have wished they had a father who understood what it meant to be a Mutant? It's your call, kid. This isn't a trap."

"I'm, uh, going by Wildchild again," Kyle told him.

"Fair enough," Wolverine shrugged.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but... what's your stake in all this?"

"Interested third party?"

"No, I mean..."

"Look, you sort out what you're gonna do with Creed, and I'll do the same, capiche?"

"Right," Kyle agreed, "-and... however this turns out... thanks for finding my dad."

"Yer welcome," Logan smiled, with his fangs.

"-You don't happen to know who my mom was, do you?" Kyle asked, hopefully.

"No."

"Just checking."

"Let's go back in. Next period's about to start."

* * *

It was dark outside when the game ended, and amid the angry hubbub of disappointed Maple Leafs' fans, Logan, Kyle, and Creed walked out the main gates.

"Told ya they would lose," Logan grinned at Creed.

"Next time remember to bet cash on it, Miss Cleo," Creed sneered.

"One of us watches too much daytime TV," Logan observed.

Kyle laughed.

"What's your excuse? Still wanderin' around pretending you're a beatnik?" Creed retorted.

"At least I hold books right side up," shrugged Logan. Creed took a swipe at him, but Logan ducked with practiced ease. Kyle jumped back just in time, then caught up, putting Wolverine between himself and Sabretooth.

"Hey Kyle! What do you do?" Sabretooth asked, suddenly.

"Huh?"

"I'm an assassin, and Logan here thinks he's gotta membership to club x. What. Do.

You. Do?"

"Oh, I'm traveling with a band right now."

"You're a roadie?"

"Stage crew," Kyle fudged, flawlessly.

"What's the name of the band?" Logan asked.

"'Captain Crash', like the Bon Jovi song."

"Yer kiddin', right?"

"That all they play?" Sabretooth asked, dubiously.

"Nah, they play a lot of their own stuff. Club gigs, they usually end up doing Van Halen or AC/DC, maybe 'Brick House'."

"Lynard Skynard?" Logan asked.

"Umm..."

"Update yer fuckin' vinyl, Logan," Creed snorted, "-have you even heard of Mettallica?"

"The Doors," Logan countered.

"That's a gimmie. Ramstien?"

"You always did have a thing for German. The Eagles."

"Hotel California?" Creed looked at him in disgust. "Why don'tcha skip to Pink Floyd an' be done with it?"

"Van Morrisson."

"'Tom Petty."

"U2."

"Hard to find what yer looking for, is it?" Creed grinned, insufferably.

"At least I'm still looking."

"I'm lookin' AT it."

"Look again," Logan growled.

"Looking," said Creed.

"Look somewhere else."

"How long, ba-" Sabretooth began.

"Go back up the mountain, Jack," Logan cut him off.

"Hot damn. You DO remember," Sabretooth was delighted.

"Witherspoon? What's the big deal?"

By this point, Kyle was lost about six miles back. He was pretty sure the 'hard to find what you're looking for, is it?' line was a reference to the U2 song 'still haven't found what I'm looking for', but after that it was like listening to a Chinese ping-pong tournament.

-Not that he was going to cut in, of course... unless-

"David Bowie?" Kyle asked.

"Fair enough," agreed Logan.

"Quiet Ri-"

"This is it," Creed interrupted Kyle, pointing to the dark gray truck up ahead in the crowded parking lot.

"-Oh," Kyle sounded disappointed.

"Hey kid, how long is 'Captain Crash' gonna be in town?" Logan asked.

"Until next Tuesday," Kyle said brightening, "-we got gigs on Saturday and Sunday night, but then ya need a day to recover, so-" he thought for a moment, "-do you, ah, wanna come to one of the shows?"

"Sure," agreed Sabretooth, sounding taken with the idea.

"Wouldn't miss it," said Logan.

Kyle pulled a crumpled flyer out of his back pocket, and handed it over.

"So..." Kyle shoved his hands back in his pockets, because he couldn't get them to stay still.

"Yeah, guess I'll see ya then," Logan clapped Kyle on the shoulder.

"This should be interestin'," said Sabretooth, looking at Wolverine as he said it. Then he paused, and reached into one of his coat pockets.

"You got a phone, boy?" he asked.

"Not really," admitted Kyle. -The number Logan had used to contact him was actually the number of a friend of his.

"Oh," Creed's hand came back out of the pocket empty. "Glad I met ya, then."

"Yeah..." Kyle's eyes flickered dangerously for a second, then went back to his usual halfway-innocent look.

"Heh," The moment wasn't lost on Creed.

"Try not to kill him between now and Saturday?" Kyle asked.

"I'll try," agreed Logan.

/They're GANGING UP on me/ Sabretooth thought, happily. /This could be more interesting than I thought./

* * *

"Let me out."

It was a mile or so away from the stadium, in one of the rougher sections of town.

"I broke your bike, remember?" Creed didn't stop the truck. "Where you gonna go?"

Logan popped claws, and held the tips lightly against Creed's collarbone.

"You know I'm not bluffing. Let me out."

"Why?" Creed asked, ignoring the claws.

"Cause I asked nicely, and you don't wanna wreck this truck."

Creed stopped at the next intersection, and stayed there after the light changed.

"Run, rabbit," Sabretooth looked at Logan pointedly. Logan tapped his claws against the side of Creed's face, then retracted them. The bone claws were warm to the touch, antler-like surfaces worn smooth from countless extensions. That touch tended to make Creed say and do really stupid things. The gesture was either unconscious on Logan's part, or a perfect parting shot, Creed couldn't tell which. "I'll find you," he growled, claws digging unseen into the back of the steering wheel.

"Yeah. It's called Saturday," Logan got out of the cab, and unloaded his bike from the bed of the truck, while the cars stuck behind them honked at him angrily. Creed watched the small, dark shape start pushing the motorbike down the sidewalk, then drove away.

* * *

/It's time to do some serious drinking/ decided Wolverine. /I walk through this old town, new faces that don't know me, street and concrete and pigeon shit on the eves. Neon. I think I'm walkin' at random, but then I see a block of defunct offices from the dot-com crash era, dark windows and torn white plastic over a vertical sign going up the side of the building. The red from a traffic light down on the corner catches the plastic for a moment, and I see another sign, this one in pink neon. 'Prophesy'. Weird name for a fleabag hotel, yet I think I've been here before. I can't smell anything...

Jimmying the lock is as easy as twisting hard. I close the door behind me softly, and my boots clump on the hard-carpeted stairs. I take the bike upstairs with me. The room is on the second floor, on the front side of the building. There's a sterile, yuppie feel about the place, but it is exactly that lack of personality to the room that makes it easy to remember what it was, like the glowing Heads-Up-Display on the windscreens of fighter-jets, the true shapes of the room are projected across my eyes.

At least it smells better now...

I feel a crushing sense of separation and time. Of inevitability. I've got to get out of here. Out of this room, out of this ghost building, far up North where nobody knows me, and disappear. I've got to-

Am I dreaming now?

I can smell crushed out cigarettes, and old couch, and whiskey. I can smell the mildew from under the sink, and the rain-soaked air from the just-open window. I didn't belong here then, and I sure as hell don't now. The memory, the way the walls feel so WRONG around me, and the phantom smells of the room tie into a knot in the pit of my stomach, and sit there like poison.

But I can't be poisoned, can I?

What the hell happened in this room? Who was I then? And why was I afraid?

Creed's never been here. I'm sure of that. Not as long as I lived here, at least.

Sabretooth wasn't supposed to BE on the Terry Adams mission.

Prophesy.

What prophesies have been written about me, I wonder.

Prophesies? Dream on, freak.

I was a mutant then and I'm a mutant now. I've read where we fit into the prophesies, and I'd choke first. I'm a mutant, but-

Flicking out both sets of claws at once, I look around the room, eyes darting around the impersonal, empty walls like a cornered rat. Walking to the center of the room, I bite my left wrist deeply, and watch the blood soak into the dusty white carpet.

Reflections of snow. My wrist heals quickly, and I feel another memory, one that knows why I just did that, threatening to black out everything else like a wave. I'm ANGRY at the blood. It shouldn't have hit the snow. He- I-/

"I can't kill 'im! You CAN'T make me DO this!" Logan screamed into the darkness.

/That's it, I am out of here. I walk the bike downstairs, manage not to stumble on the doorjamb to the outside, and breathe the cool, free, polluted, air of T.O. Overhead, I can see the stars.

I need a place to stay, but I don't trust the dreams I'd have in that place.

I'm not even sure it's the same building I thought it was, but...

Should have just gone with the drink./

* * *

Sabretooth hadn't seen Wolverine in two days, not since Wednesday night at the intersection. He told himself that tomorrow night wasn't that far away, but he couldn't quite buy it. Logan was a drug, and a dangerous one.

And one thing Sabretooth knew, was drugs. Nothing compared to 'the glow' of course, but he'd taken just about everything, at some point. Most of the drugs had been flushed out of his system almost before they started to work, but he had a lingering fondness for heroin, and a healthy respect for absinthe. He never knew WHERE he would wake up after drinking THAT stuff.

Being with Logan was the same way. Just enough to make Creed want more, but gone almost as soon as he started to be fun.

And addictive. DEFINITELY addictive.

It could have been ANYONE. Why did it have to be a sawed-off punk with severe mental problems, and eyes like sharp chips of brown beer-glass?

Disgusted with his circular train of thought, Creed listened in on a conversation taking place at the next table. Two thieves were planning a break-in. The target was...

* * *

Logan knew where the break-in would happen. He'd overheard the two young thieves talking about it at the bus stop. Sometimes things crossed his path, and they had to be dealt with. He wasn't going to get involved until he heard the part about bringing a 9-mil to take care of the night watchman, but that settled it.

Saturday morning, one AM, a jewelry store somewhere on the East side of town, and they had a partner who would meet them there, a new guy.

Great. The more the merrier. Maybe he could get this thing dealt with and get some sleep before Kyle's gig tonight, but Logan doubted it. He'd almost missed the break-in time as it was, and he was waiting on a fire escape crowded with potted plants, situated one story above the store. Something was off, he could feel it. The thieves showed up right on time, broke in, and Logan dropped to the sidewalk after them without a sound, following them in. ...Where the hell was the night watchman?

It was sheer luck that he was inside before the police lit the place up with spotlights.

"Sonofabitch!" one of the thieves yelled.

"The cops! Is the back open?"

It wasn't.

Logan played through options in his head. He could move in and collar these two, and then hand them over to the police. Or he could vanish into the air conditioning duct, and wait until the police had left. Yeah, the thieves had a gun, but they couldn't see shit outside with the spotlights on them, and the police had the situation covered.

Cigar smoke, and-

Great. The thieves weren't the only ones who'd been set up, and Sabretooth wanted him to know it. Logan took to the stairs, coming up three flights to the top of the roof.

"Hey, runt." Creed waved to him. A wind was up that night, and it snatched at Sabretooth's long trench coat and hair. That was why he hadn't smelled the police, then. Sabretooth had told them where to wait for the thieves, without mentioning that it was dead-center down wind.

"You done playing around?" Logan growled.

"I think I've made my point," Creed nodded.

"We should get out of here, then."

"I don't know. This place has got atmosphere," Creed grinned, motioning to the sea of flashing lights below. A stray bullet winged past his arm, missing him as he pulled it back. "So righteous. So ready ta kill us."

"Real nice, Creed. I'm still leaving."

"You do it, and I'll take you down when you leap."

"You'd be arrested too," Logan pointed out.

"So nice to know you care."

"You forgetting something, 'dad'?"

"Oh, you mean the thing you forgot when you came here in the first place, rather than calling the cops like everybody who DON'T have a complex?"

"Why are you so afraid to face Wildchild without me?" Logan spat back.

"You've got a way with the kid," Creed purred.

"Bullshit. The kid's impressed, you're just too blind to see it."

"You think so?"

The door to the shop down below crashed open, and the sounds of cops storming the place rose higher quickly.

"Time to go," ordered Logan. Creed remembered that voice. He'd missed it.

"Right."

They vanished like ghosts over the rooftops, a few bullets buzzing past them ineffectually, and then the cool, dark emptiness of running through the night.

* * *

Half an hour later, they were standing on top of a huge metal shipping container, one of dozens stacked up in a dockside loading yard. Out over the water, the lights of ships could be seen passing through the low-lying fog.

Logan pulled the hood of his costume down around his neck. Creed fished out his cigar from earlier, and re-lit it. Logan lit up also, and neither of them said anything for a while.

Creed finished his cigar first, and walked over to Logan. He tried to cup the side of Logan's face in his hand, but Logan pulled back from him, irritated.

"What do you want from me, bub? Really, I mean."

"I wanna give you back what you lost, and I want you back in return."

"No deal, Creed."

"I've learned a lot about you, you know? I know why you didn't stay with Team X. I know why you wanted ta belong in the X-Men so badly, knowin' all the time that you couldn't. I know what you're missin'. You know that feeling, when you wake up and your head tells you you're safe, but ya can't remember how to breathe? I know how to fix that," Creed promised.

"The hell you do. You're just tryin' to 'win'."

"What did you DO, Logan?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"Pain gets you a wee bit mixed up, but it's guilt that really hits your re-set button," Creed explained, "-so, what did you do?"

"Don't you know?" asked Wolverine. "I thought you know everything about me."

"I know what you did, but I don't know why you did it," Creed replied, carefully.

"So what you're sayin' is, I -did- sleep with you," Logan concluded.

Creed laughed.

"Wanna try it again and find out?"

"No," Logan answered.

/Bullshit./

"You sure? You could chalk it up to experimentation."

"I've chalked a lot of things up to experimentation, but somehow, I don't think you could be one of them."

"That's true," Sabretooth agreed, "-glad you remember."

"That's not what I meant," Logan growled.

"So pick different words next time," Creed purred.

"Shut up."

"Deal," Creed leaned over and bit Logan's ear.

"Grah! Get off me!" Wolverine snarled, twisting away hard enough to tear the skin of his ear between Creed's teeth. They faced off. Logan's ear held a drop of red on the bottom lobe, trickled down from the bite before it could heal. Sabretooth licked his lips, watching the slow-burning rage build in Logan's eyes, and catching the heady scent of arousal that would no doubt be denied later.

"You are so overdue for this..." Creed hissed.

"Prove it," sneered Logan.

"We've been down THIS road before. We're just gonna dance until you can think somethin' vicious enough to yell over your shoulder that it don't look like running away."

"You're not hearing me Creed," Logan interrupted, "-I told ya t'prove it. If you can."

"Oh... Prove it..." Creed echoed, realizing what Logan's game was.

It was about Logan's almighty self control. Hell, it wasn't even about CREED anymore. Logan wanted to prove that there was nothing here for him, no feeling that wasn't just autonomic.

The game was both a slap in the face, and an opportunity. This wasn't the time for an all-out assault. Creed had tried that before. No, this would be won with a purr, not a scream...

And Logan was counting on him to be dumb enough not to realize it.

First mistake.

* * *

Creed approached his quarry carefully. He walked around Logan full circle, touching whenever it suited him, but lightly. Shoulder, hip, the small of Logan's back, on the arm just above the blue glove. His face, the tip of one nail tracing a line from the corner of Logan's eye down to the side of his chin, like the track of a tear. Logan was glaring at him. Braced. Waiting for the wave to break.

Hah.

Creed leaned in and licked the drop of blood off of Logan's ear. Another lick, behind the ear this time, and Creed let one of his fangs scrape against the side of Logan's neck, just for a moment.

Creed's hands settled around Logan's waist, thumbs stroking the base of Logan's ribcage through hard muscle plate, in a gesture like a cat kneading it's paws. That got a response, but Logan regained his composure too quickly for it to count.

/Are we paying attention?/ Creed thought, grinning into Logan's hair. Creed pulled them closer, and Logan looked up at him, his expression unreadable. Creed stared down steadily for a moment, then licked the tip of Logan's nose deliberately. That got a momentary look of surprise, and a faint smirk, which Creed lost no time in catching in a kiss. Logan didn't kiss him back. That wasn't a problem, exactly, but it was frustrating. Logan liked to kiss, Creed knew, and he was -good- at it.

Damn.

But he didn't have to get Logan to totally lose it here, to win. He just had to get him thinking about there being a next time. Tightening his hold, Creed brought Logan fully against his chest, and started rubbing his back, the heels of his hands digging into the tension knot just below the middle of Logan's shoulder blades with a slow, relentless pressure that actually worked.

Time had changed Logan over the past twenty years, but precious little, and none of the old knots had moved. He was tense as hell though, and it took Creed the better part of two hours to unlock everything. Logan could feel Creed breathing against his hair, slow, and steady, and warm. He was gonna have Sabretooth's scent all over him.

/I'm still winning, though.../ Logan thought.

* * *

Logan woke to the feeling of something warm and wet on the back of his right hand. Opening his eyes, he saw bands of orange and purple in the pre-dawn Eastern sky, and knew that he'd... well... blown it. He had fallen asleep in Creed's lap. Again. For the second time this month. Except for his glove, his clothes were still in place though, and it didn't smell like... What -was- that on his hand...?

Looking up and back a bit, Logan saw that his nemesis had been licking the back of his hand. If he'd popped claws upon waking, as he often did, they would have gone straight through Creed's face into his brain.

Not that they wouldn't both survive the experience, but still...

Logan extended his claws just far enough to shape claw-points into the skin from the inside, emphasizing that thought. Creed looked down at him sidelong, and swirled his tongue around one of the skin-covered claw points before giving Logan his hand back.

"Have a nice nap?" Creed murmured.

Logan glared, but the look didn't reach his mouth.

"...Yeah," he answered, finally.

"So what happens now?" asked Creed.

"Now we get breakfast," Logan decided.

* * *

Creed's cell phone rang.

"Talk," he answered, cheerfully. "Who?" Pause. "How the fuck did you get this number?" Pause. "You think I don't know that?" Pause. "Yeah, well why d'you-"

Pause. "No, I WON'T." Pause. "-Deal with it." Pause. "-Look, if you come within a mile o' me, you're gonna find out what your own intestines taste like!" Pause. "You too. Bye." Sabretooth flipped the phone closed, and pocketed it.

"Who was that?" -Logan, now back in civvies, hadn't managed to catch the other end of the conversation over the background noise from the crowded restaurant.

"My agent," Creed shrugged.

"Sorry I asked."

Creed chased a strawberry to the other side of his plate with a forefinger claw.

"Got a plan for gettin' t' Africa yet?"

"What about Kyle?" Logan pointed out.

"Take 'im with us," Creed said, as if it should have been obvious.

"Not wise."

"He ain't exactly untrained, you know," Creed reminded him.

"Yeah, but military combat's different."

"Oh c'mon, Logan. How many soldiers have you taught?"

"He's not you, ya know," Logan stated, "-he might not want to BE like you."

Logan didn't mince words. Creed loved that.

"So like I said, YOU teach him," Creed grinned.

"Shadowcat, Jubilee, Amiko..." Logan sighed.

"Kyle's different."

"How so?"

"He's mine."

"All parents think that, Creed. Makes it that much harder to write the letters home when the kid ends up takin' a dirtnap," Logan told him, dryly.

"Healing factor? Hello?"

"Death ain't the worst thing that can happen to Kyle, and you know it," Logan snapped.

"Hmm," Creed smiled.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

Logan looked over at him dubiously, and stole the strawberry.

Creed let him.

Logan noticed this, and smirked around the strawberry. Creed kept hoping a drop of strawberry juice would escape, and made a bet with himself that he would get in on the action if it did, but it didn't. Logan watched him thoughtfully, chewing.

"I'll be right back." he stood, pushing his chair back, started to turn then paused. Palms flat on the table, Logan leaned across and closed the distance between them until Creed could feel the light scratch of brown whiskers against the side of his face. Logan sniffed him momentarily, then drew back with a quiet smile on his face, and walked off.

/God DAMN/ thought Creed, willing the blood pounding in his ears to slow down, /how does he DO that?/

* * *

"Hello?" Jean tucked the phone against her ear with a shoulder. In the light of a magnificent bay window over her shoulder, Professor Xavier continued his history lesson to the twelve students seated at the crescent-shaped table in front of him.

"Hey, Jeannie," It was Logan. Professor X's eyes flicked up for a moment when he felt the wave of happiness from Jean, but he kept going with the lecture.

"Logan. It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, well..." Logan shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see him over the phone. "What's goin' on?"

"Not much, thankfully. You took most of the 'fun' with you. Speaking of which..."

"I'm fine," Logan answered, a little too quickly for Jean's taste.

"Oh, and Nick Fury called the school a couple of days ago looking for you."

"Nick Fury? What did he want? Did he say?"

"No, but he sounded..." Jean trailed off. "Are you still with Victor Creed?"

"-With-?" Logan echoed, dubiously. "Who said-"

"I mean are you still traveling with him," Jean interrupted.

"Yeah, I am. He's workin' through somethin' right now, something a little more complex than he's used to."

"You mean Kyle?"

"Jean..." Logan growled.

"Ah..." Jean didn't like the sudden change in Logan's voice. He sounded really, really pissed. Almost scared.

"How many people know about this?" Logan asked, flatly.

Jean honestly didn't know. Her silence was an answer by itself, as she tried to think of what to say.

"Cat's out of the bag, ain't it," Logan sighed.

"Yes."

Logan swore.

"You know what this means, don't you? Kyle's just become a target for BOTH sides," he snarled, "-did anybody THINK about that?"

"Logan, I-"

"I know," Logan interrupted her, "-I know you weren't the one who leaked this. You're too smart for that. Fact remains though, the hand-basket's boardin'."

"Have you found him? Kyle, I mean?" Jean asked.

"Yes."

"Then he's safer with you than he would be anywhere else," Jean said, firmly.

"Thanks for the vote o' confidence," Logan deadpanned.

"Want backup anyway?" Jean asked.

"Jeannie, if there's somethin' that can get past Sabretooth and me, it's already over."

Jean wasn't going to argue that one- ...though she could have.

"Logan..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you really okay?"

Logan didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't know what else to say, either. This was JEAN.

"I-" he couldn't say it. "Jean, Creed's been tryin' to get my memory back for twenty years. What does that tell ya?"

"Well... That sounds like obsession to me," she said, carefully.

"Yeah, like a prisoner lookin' to get paroled."

"You may owe him a fair hearing," Jean allowed, "-but you don't owe him who you are now."

There was a pause.

"...I know. ...One other thing- -has anybody from the mansion been trying to contact me through Creed's cell phone?"

"Not that I know of," Jean answered, "-his contact information's listed in the restricted personnel files though, so they could have."

"Thanks," Logan told her. He meant it, but Jean caught the feeling that he wanted the conversation to be over now.

"Any time. Take care of yourself, Logan."

"You too, Red."

The phone clicked, then went silent. Jean hung the receiver back up in it's cradle, and rested her chin in her hand, thinking. Logan had just told her a lot, but he had left out as much as he said.

Jean decided not to mention the conversation to anyone. There was too much information running around loose as it was, and the seemingly academic topic of an enemy's unknown son had snowballed with frightening speed.

...Why had Hank thought to ask that question in the first place?

* * *

Sabretooth took one look at Logan's grim expression when he returned to the table, and thought for a skin-crawling moment that Logan had blanked out, and he'd have to start explaining things all over again. Then Logan dropped into the chair opposite him, crossed his arms, and eyed the 'no smoking' sign mounted on the wall beside the register counter with irritation. Creed tapped one of Logan's boots with his own under the table, questioningly.

"McCoy's got a lousy sense of discretion," Logan sighed.

"Wha'd he say?" Creed asked.

"Seems everybody an' their kid brother found out who Kyle is," Wolverine explained, disgustedly. "S'my fault. I should never have asked him to look at DNA, especially ours."

"W-What?" Creed choked.

"I asked Hank ta find out if we were any kin. That's what got him on the mix-and-match kick. Now Kyle's exposed as bein' yours, and every budding super- super-villain team and 'department X' wannabe is gonna come after him."

"Nice going," Creed growled, "-that was real fuckin' bright."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Wolverine challenged.

"Teach 'im how to fight the war he's already in," Creed told him firmly, "-we take Kyle out of here, and we take him -tonight-."

"And what if he doesn't want to go?" Logan asked.

"Burn that bridge when we come to it."

Wolverine scowled.

"You know I'm right," Creed added.

"This is why you never came for him before, ain't it."

"Partly, yeah."

"Why'd you bring me into this, Creed?" Wolverine asked. "Enough with the phony moral support crap. I know ya better than that."

"Do you?"

"Cards on the table," Logan demanded. "-Or you do this alone."

"What about Kyle?" Creed snarled.

"He'll get over it."

Creed looked at Logan across the table for a long, tense moment.

/Fuck it/ he thought, /It's not like I've ever been this close before./

"Let's take a drive," Creed agreed, carefully.

* * *

Miles outside town, long open fields and groups of sturdy trees broke up the suburbs, and Creed turned off the main road onto a smaller one. He changed direction again, and the road lost it's center divider. Finally, the gray pickup stopped next to a lake. Logan knew this place. There were beds of cattails along the shore, twisted with animal tracks and hunter's trails, hidden and exposed at the same time, like a Vietnamese rice paddy. This lake was better in the winter, when it froze over and you could walk out to the center of it, but it would do.

Logan parked his bike next to the truck, and kicked down the stand.

He found Creed under a spreading tree near the lakeshore, carving his name into the top of a wooden picnic table.

"You owe me some answers," Logan shoved his hands in the pockets of his black biker jacket, and leaned against the picnic table. Creed looked up.

"Okay. I'll turn over my cards one by one, and if you get a headache, say so."

"Huh?"

"...Unless you wanna wake up back at the X-mansion wondering what you've been doin' for the past seven months," Creed shrugged.

"I don't re-set THAT far."

"Yeah you DO."

"-All right, talk."

"All of us have been fucked with by the weapon X scientists at some point. You, me, AND Kyle."

"So?"

"You know I stole some files when I shut the Shiva program down, right?"

"Yeah," Logan lied.

"Turns out Kyle owes you his life, an' his freedom. You were the one who broke 'im out of the labs."

"How'd they get their hands on him in the first place?" Wolverine asked.

"Logan, shut up," Creed interrupted.

Silence.

/That's a first/ Creed thought, /-now play this carefully.../

* * *

"You broke him out. I know that much, but what I -don't- get is why you didn' keep him with you. Somewhere between the Weapon X lab and where you ran into the new Mr. and Mrs. Department H, you either lost him, or DITCHED him."

"I didn't kill 'im," Logan cut in.

"I know that. We saw him Wednesday, remember?" Creed looked at Wolverine thoughtfully. "Why did ya wanna kill him?"

"I didn't!"

"Look, I don't -do- rational, and you ain't helping," Creed said, irritated, "-just answer my fucking question."

"I don't. Have. The answer," Logan told him, flatly.

"Dig, Wolverine," Creed insisted, sarcastically.

"Why don't YOU dig up the real name of who called you earlier," Logan snapped.

"Hank McCoy," Creed answered, calling Logan's bet.

"An' what did he have to say?" Wolverine recovered quickly.

"I'm getting ta that!" Creed slapped the tabletop next to Logan, claw-points embedding in the wood. He jerked his hand free, splintering the boards. Logan didn't even twitch. "What yer Muppet of a school nurse had to tell me was nothin' I didn't already know. -You'd know too, if you'd open your eyes," Creed hinted.

"Quit beatin' around the bush," Logan said, irritated.

"The Weapon X project MADE Kyle. Baked up their very own super-soldier, which was high-tech shit, at the time. -Guess where they got the recipe?"

Wolverine froze.

"You?"

"No. US."

Logan swallowed hard, and shut his eyes tight. /This can't- Wasn't what they did to ME enough? ...Kyle... They took EVERYTHING. Creed was-/

"Logan? You okay?"

"How COULD they?" Logan growled, low and barely intelligible.

"You know."

Logan -did- know. The Hippocratic oath, the promise every doctor swears to 'first do no harm' didn't often apply to Mutants. Technology was money. When conventional weapons designers came up with two successful guns, the innovations of both designs were often combined into one package before the military bought it.

Kyle WAS that prototype.

Imagining what the project would have done with whatever luckless Jane Doe they'd used for Kyle's mother after they were finished with her, was all too easy. There would have to have been a woman, Logan knew. They didn't have the 'tanks' quite right back then...

"You don't look so good," Creed observed.

"I'm all right."

Creed put a large, clawed hand on Logan's back and kept it there, rubbing small circles into the black leather with his fingers. At length Logan looked up. Creed was looking back at him.

"So," Logan cleared his throat.

"Yeah," said Creed.

"Dr. Cornelius is dead. I know that much."

"He wasn't working alone," Creed put in.

"Do you know who else was in on it?"

"No."

"Then we still have an enemy," Logan decided.

"Yes."

"And... a son," Logan added, carefully.

"Ah-huh." Creed grinned.

"This is goin' to be complicated."

"With you, it always is," Creed snorted, "-what's say we start back in to the city now?"

"You're right. It'll be sundown soon," Wolverine agreed, "-one thing though-"

"Just one?" Creed piped up, skeptically.

"If you've been tryin' to get me in the sack so's I'll help you with Kyle, you can stop now."

"Heh heh..."

Creed waited until Logan had started back up the bank towards the vehicles, then cut two more words into the top of the picnic table, and followed the bike back into town.

* * *

"Can I hit him? Please?" The black-haired woman begged. Kyle shook his head. Marion huffed. She was in full stage makeup, and a short, shiny red dress with a ripped bottom edge. The white guitar slung over her shoulder gleamed like polished whalebone in the lights shining in from onstage. The band's name-sake Crash, who refused to go by anything else, looked doubtfully at Kyle, arms folded. This sweet, shaggy addition to their posse had become very dear to both of them. Crash had known Kyle was a mutant ever since the band had played in Cincinnati and a bar fight broke out, but knowing Kyle wouldn't be killed by anything short of a tactical nuke was actually a lot off his mind. Now if he could just get Marion to take Kyle with her when she went drinking...

"This is your dad? I mean, you're sure about this?"

"Crash, if he's not my dad, he's gotta be my uncle," Kyle had his hands in his back pockets again, and he looked understandably nervous.

"And, uh, the other stuff?" Crash asked, tactfully.

"Yeah, he's where I get the healing and stuff from," Kyle nodded.

"I don't give a fuck, baby," Marion put a militant-sisterly hand on Kyle's shoulder, "-if he tries anything, I'll torch this place."

"Quee-en..." Crash groaned.

"Hey, uh, we're ready out there," the bass player called over.

Crash nodded curtly, and turned back to Kyle.

"Good luck, man. We'll see you after the show."

Kyle watched them go, and wondered if he should wait here, or down on the dance floor, or over by the tables. Or at the bar, for that matter. He swallowed. Then he eyed the steel tube framework over the stage, hidden by the top section of curtain. That would work. Kyle shinnied up the framework jungle-gym style, and hung from one of the pipes by his knees, right over where Marion was launching into her opening number. Past the dangling tips of his hair, Kyle could see down her dress pretty well from here. Too bad she was in love with Crash.

* * *

Creed gave the outside of the club an appraising glance. Rock music could be heard from down the street where they'd parked the bike and Creed's truck. It wasn't bad, but it had a caffeine edge that seemed to be annoying Wolverine. If this club was non-smoking, it soon wouldn't be.

"I've seen worse," Logan decided, pushing the door open. Inside, a wave of party warmth closed over them. Creed made his way to the crowded bar at the left side of the floor, and shouted at the bartender for a couple of beers. He savored the reactions of the other people at the bar with him. Logan wasn't one of them. He'd gone towards the stage, probably looking for Kyle. People had several reactions to Creed, and while fear was common, he was also compelling, and he knew it. Every time he walked into a crowded room like this and opened his mouth, people noticed. Six-feet-seven of blonde matter-of-fact self assurance tended to do that. The fangs and claws clinched it. Like it or not, he was in their faces- ...and many of them liked it.

He lacked Logan's talent of sitting still and getting kitten-like things to come over and sit trustingly in his lap, and he couldn't pass unnoticed ANYWHERE, but Creed couldn't think of anyone he would rather be than himself. It was, well, fun.

The bartender came back with the beers, and Creed opened one, holding the neck of the other hooked loosely between two fingers. So many young people here. He could smell the hair gel, drugs, and Japanese plastic that the current generation seemed to have trademarked as it's own even over the beer and hot Human. Creed caught a tall, curvy brunette with wavy hair and deep green eyes smiling at him from halfway down the bar. Logan had stopped prowling around the perimeter of the club, and claimed a small table up near the stage, one table removed from the madness on the dance floor. Creed looked from one to the other for a moment, then grinned. He went over and put the moves on the girl, watching Logan out of the corner of his eye. The runt had noticed, and he was giving Sabretooth the look he usually reserved for open mass graves. Creed wrote Nick Fury's home number on a napkin, and gave it to the girl as his. -A fine piece of ass was a terrible thing to waste. /Waste- ...Get it? Heh heh.../

* * *

Logan had tried not to watch. Like the screaming brakes of a race car in a crash-reel, the harsh reality of just who he'd walked in with held his attention anyway. He'd found Kyle, probably. The faint thread of scent led him to the stage, and no further. And then he'd looked for Creed...

/What was I thinkin'?/ Wolverine studied his palm, disgustedly. Even if he did want Creed, it wasn't like they were gonna be exclusive. Mystique had proved that years ago, and she could turn into anything. She also didn't have a memory like Swiss cheese. The thought stung, but no more than the one that followed it. Mystique had a son by Sabretooth, and while Graydon hadn't been born with mutant powers, he'd at least been intentional. And Mystique had abandoned him anyway, a failed experiment who had since become a determined enemy.

/I will never understand Mystique/ Logan decided, /-think I'd shoot myself in the head if I ever did. ...Just on principle./

And that left the current problem. He couldn't trust Creed. Ever. Had Beast really corroborated what Creed had told him about Kyle's genetics down by the lake, or had that been a game too?

No, it didn't really matter. Maybe he shared blood with Kyle and maybe he didn't, but the fact was, Logan had a connection he wouldn't just let go now. He'd had a connection before, as Wildchild's teacher and occasional warden, but seeing Wildchild trying to make his own way in the world had cemented it. Kyle was more than just a number on a team roster, even if that meant he had to make a few decisions on his own. Some Mutants simply weren't strong enough to leave the teams. Kyle had always been strong enough to leave, but now he was strong enough to leave without becoming a villain.

Logan had no more questions.

He'd waited longer to make that call with Kyle than with anyone else in recent memory. Contrary to what he'd told Creed, he HAD wanted to kill Kyle at one point. Fortunately he hadn't acted on it, he'd just yelled something about Kyle needing to be put down, and stalked out of the Alpha Flight practice room.

/'Just.' Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that, bub.../

* * *

Creed claimed the seat across from Logan's and slid a beer bottle across the table, unopened. Logan gave him a cold look, and opened the bottle. He raised it, then caught the curly-haired girl's scent from the condensation on the surface, and stopped, putting it back down.

"What?" Creed asked, innocently.

Logan tipped the bottle over in Creed's direction, landing half the beer in the other man's lap.

"HEY!" Creed grabbed the bottle quickly, and set it down out of Logan's reach. "That's cold, you little shit..."

"You had it comin'," Logan shrugged, reclaiming the bottle with a quick lean-and-snatch.

The band ended the first set, riled up the crowd, and the curtain fell. Then there was a distinct thud, like a sandbag falling. Or a person. Talking and laughter from backstage, and Kyle's voice was among them. Logan and Creed exchanged an uneasy glance, and a silent truce was struck. A minute later Kyle walked out from backstage, unaware of the smudge of glittery makeup on his right cheek. Sabretooth waved to him from a table down in front. Logan was in a really bad mood, Kyle noted. Kyle snagged a chair from another table on his way over, trying to ignore the fact that half the band was probably watching him around the edge of the stage curtain.

"Hey dad. Logan."

Creed reached over and touched the makeup smudge, then sniffed his fingers.

"Nice," he decided, "-girlfriend?"

Kyle wiped his cheek on the sleeve of his black t-shirt, and looked at it to see what Creed was talking about.

"I wish. She dates the lead singer," Kyle told him.

"You can change that, ya know," Creed suggested.

"Nah, Crash's my friend," Kyle explained quickly. "I wouldn't do that to him."

"Huh."

Kyle noticed the puddle of beer spilled across the tabletop between his dad and Logan, and wondered what he'd just walked into the middle of.

Silence.

"Umm..." Kyle picked up the girl's scent on Creed, and looked from one to the other. "I'll see you at the end of the next set, I guess."

"Siddown," Logan's hand landed on Kyle's shoulder. Kyle sat. "This didn't have anythin' to do with you. -Tell me how ya hooked up with a rock and roll band."

"I broke into the tour bus. You know, by accident..." Kyle began.

* * *

Kyle stayed with them throughout the whole show. The beer on the table got wiped up at some point, and empties started collecting there like pigeons on a park bench. Kyle had gone through several groups and circles, his interest in each tight-knit team flaring with a fierce devotion initially, and in each case, he was either valued solely as a killer, or made to feel guilty for the exact same reason. Kyle never said as much, but the phrase, "So then I moved on-" seemed to show up a little too often. Alpha Flight did the best of anyone, having had experience with both Wolverine and Sasquatch before Wildchild arrived on the scene. Kyle got a distant and somewhat sad look in his eyes when he spoke of Aurora. Her minx side had affected him deeply, but it was Jean-Marie he'd held out real hope of getting somewhere with. ...And yet here he was now.

Logan found himself watching for holes in Kyle's narrative as much as the story itself. So far, he hadn't found one. Kyle wouldn't black things out when they got bad, he'd just...

stop being Human for a while.

Not that anybody at this table was Human anyway, technically.

Sabretooth lit up, and watched the conversation between Logan and Kyle silently. This was what he'd set up, but it was still a pleasure to watch it unfold. It occurred to Creed, and not for the first time, that he could easily lose Kyle to Logan if he fucked this up. It was just a matter of experience, and if he fought Logan here, he would lose. Even with all the cards in hand, and Logan's memory in pieces, he would still lose. It was a strange thought.

At length, Kyle asked Logan about the X-Men.

"Scott runs the day-to-day stuff, and there's more students at the school now. That's about it," Logan paused, "-been thinkin' of moving on myself, lately."

Kyle glanced over at Creed for a moment, then back at Logan.

"Know where you're going?" he asked.

"Africa," Logan nodded, "-Nick Fury tells me there's a few situations down there that would benefit from a more expert touch."

Creed drummed his claws briefly on the tabletop, meaningfully. He hadn't known Logan had already contacted Fury about the details of this little excursion.

Kyle fumed. He didn't want them to go. He'd barely met his dad, and he'd learned as much about Logan in the past week as he had previously in Alpha Flight. It wasn't fair, but there was clearly no stopping them either.

"You wanna come with us?" Creed asked him, abruptly.

Kyle stopped.

He didn't really want to kill anyone. ...Or rather, he didn't WANT to want to kill anyone. He'd met Nick Fury briefly, but the guy seemed to be on the level. That was worth something, wasn't it?

Kyle was torn. If he could find a way to get in on this mission, he would be able to find out once and for all, how deadly he really was. He would be fighting alongside Wolverine and Sabretooth, the indispensable core of Team X, one of the top-secret legends that everyone seemed to have heard of anyway. Unless he really screwed up, Wildchild would return from Africa as something people would finally take seriously.

That was the whole problem though... 'some -thing-'. Kyle had fought long and hard to be a 'some-one-'. What if Africa destroyed that?

Kyle watched Logan's face for a long moment, and it dawned on him that they were wondering the same thing. This was his answer. If there was one man who could bring him through what lay ahead unbroken, it was Logan.

It wasn't Logan's style to take children with him into battle, though. Unless they had to learn a lot in a hurry...

"You sure you want me with you?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah," Logan nodded.

"Unless you're plannin' ta drag ass and hide behind us," Creed shrugged.

"I'll get my stuff," decided Kyle.

Africa be damned. The most dangerous battlefield would always lie between Creed and Logan anyway.

* * *

"Africa," Marion echoed.

"Do you even know WHERE in Africa?" Crash asked, scratching his head.

"No. It's probably one of those tellya-killya things anyway," Kyle replied, stuffing another t-shirt into his duffel bag.

"B-but wait a second! You don't even know this guy!" Marion protested.

"Creed is his dad," Crash pointed out, doubtfully.

"Yeah, and what kind of an -asshole- takes this long to admit that?" Marion snapped.

"I dunno. My uncle was in Vietnam, and it took him like, fifteen years before he could handle seeing his wife and kids again."

"Really?" Marion looked at Crash with concern. "You think Creed is like that?"

"Fuck if I know," Crash shrugged, helplessly, "-I'm just saying it's possible."

"Creed's not the one I'm trusting," Kyle stated, "-that's Logan."

"Logan..." Marion thought for a moment. "Your old teacher from when you were in high school?"

"Uh, kind of," Kyle added two dirt-bike magazines to his duffel, and left a third in the mesh magazine rack on the back of the tour bus's driver's seat, "-we were both on the same team."

"You're not talking about rugby, are you," Marion twigged, "-you were on, like, a superhero team."

"I'm sorry, Queen. I-I should have told you guys, but..." Kyle couldn't meet her eyes.

"Hey, it's cool, man," Crash told him, "-it's in the past, right?"

"It's in the past," Kyle nodded, wincing inwardly.

"Which team were you on?" Crash asked.

"Alpha Flight."

"Then I gotta know one thing."

"What?" Kyle tensed.

"Is that Hudson chick as hot as she looks on TV?"

"More," Kyle grinned, "-but she acts like a soccer mom."

"M.I.L.F.," Crash looked pleased, "-cool."

"So this Logan guy," Marion began, not-so-subtly changing the subject, "-what's his deal?"

Kyle looked at his sharp-nailed hand.

"It's kinda hard to explain. We didn't get along real well at first, but then he changed his mind or something, and started doing the Mr. Miyagi thing." /"You're still a bit wild, a bit reckless. The trick is to channel that fire burning in your gut-- USE the beast, not be used by it," -And I learned that trick. That and anything else he was willing to teach me, 'cause he wasn't just another 'norm blowing smoke up my ass about being good and obedient for once. HE knew./

"Look, I know you have to go give things a try with your deadbeat dad, but if it doesn't work out, we'll always have a spot for you on the bus. Remember that."

"Thanks Queen," Kyle hugged Marion, burying his face in her smooth shoulder, and dark straight hair. She smelled like post-gig sweat, baby powder, and apricot body spray.

"Same goes for me," Crash promised, doing one of those doesn't-count-'cause-I'm-pounding-you-on-the-back hugs. Crash smelled like Vaseline, suede, and Old Spice.

It wasn't until Kyle had left to go meet up with Creed and Logan that Marion noticed a set of four deep gouges in the plastic front surface of her guitar. It wouldn't affect the sound of the instrument, but the marks had been left by Kyle's claws when he hugged her, without either of them noticing it was happening. Marion ran a finger over the marks lightly, wondering just how many other things she'd missed.

"He'll be back," predicted Crash, calmly. He unscrewed the top of a bottle of glitter nail polish, and Marion held out her guitar to him while he painted sparkles into the scratches with it.

* * *

"What is this place?" Logan asked his guide, suspiciously. The empty walls of the bright, linoleum-tiled hallway were clean, but the building had been sealed for years- -Logan sniffed for a moment- -until about two days ago. Colonel Fury had told him to report to Ft. Drum in upstate New York, but being met at the front gate by a bearded retiree who introduced himself as Neil, seemed much more like Wolverine's own style than Fury's. Neil appeared to be harmless, but Logan knew military, retired or otherwise. Anyone Nick Fury would call on for a favor had to be a lot more capable than he looked. The Army was a constantly-evolving entity, often consuming parts of itself when they became obsolete, taking over space or equipment for each new purpose without much reflection on the past extending further than the paperwork required to change it.

This building had been cut off from that process so long that the current base commander probably had no idea what it was for.

"Spec-ops re-supply," Neil answered Logan's question, "-I keep a few things in stock here, so nobody has to order 'em until after the missions are finished. Less flags that way."

"Doesn't get much use," Logan observed.

"You'd be surprised," Neil stopped in front of a black metal door with the number three stenciled on it in yellow, and opened it with a keycard. The door opened with a soft sigh of pressure-release that a normal person wouldn't have been able to hear, and both men stepped inside. Neil turned on the light, a single bright bulb suspended from a cord on the ceiling.

Maverick.

Logan inhaled sharply. He HAD been here before. His, Maverick's, and Sabretooth's scents were all over the place. There was a fourth scent that he couldn't place, and there were three refrigerator-sized metal lockers, one against each open wall. A square wooden table stood in the middle of the room, surface scratched and dented by the passage of guns, ammo cans, and rucksacks.

And claws.

"Wait outside," Logan ordered Neil.

"Sure thing, Major."

Logan closed the door, and ran a hand roughly through his hair, looking around. North's locker seemed like a safe enough place to begin. It wasn't even locked. Like the man himself, North's, AKA Maverick's locker was organized, clean, and logical. Uniforms from a dozen countries and eras stared back at him, folded in a tall stack. Several shelves' worth of high-tech hardware were arranged on plain white towels to the right side, and various pairs of boots covered the floor on the left side. Two lumpy duffel bags warred with the boots for space, and on the shelf at the top of the locker, Maverick's helmet and several very wicked-looking guns stared back at him. There was also a pile of mail stuffed into one of the boots, mostly phone and electric bills from North's apartment off-base, dated 1961.

Talk about yer late-payment charges.

Some of North's usual equipment was missing, but Logan wasn't sure what.

This place was REAL, all right, but it was also as phony as a stuffed deer head.

* * *

Logan left North's locker open, and moved to the next one over.

His.

He opened it.

None of it was right. Sure, the things were HIS, but it looked like somebody had ransacked the locker at some point, and put things back in only a close approximation of where they should go, not the way Wolverine would have put them in there. The knives were there, at any rate. Six of them, flat, carbon-steel slivers of frogman-designed bad news packed into a rectangular, thigh-strapped sheath. He'd chosen carefully when he replaced his WW2-era Sykes-Fairbourne dagger. These weren't a rookie's knives. The blades had been designed for low weight as well as combat effectiveness, so in the hands of an amateur the wrong twist or bend of the handle could break the blade off in the enemy's chest. In Logan's hands, however...

/Guess I wasn't letting it slip that I had claws back then.../ Logan reflected.

Logan went through the rest of his gear, beginning a mental list of what he would take with him to Africa. No old bills in his boots. An old photograph of the team was folded up in a tan bandana near the back of one shelf. Creed, himself, and Maverick. They were in full combat gear, standing in front of a German police station. A police dog being held in check by a young soldier in the background was barking at them with deep misgivings. There were pictures missing, Logan knew. More than two of them. He pocketed the photograph anyway.

Creed's locker was last.

As chaotic as Sabretooth was when he fought, the gear on the shelves was in a reasonably coherent order. Something smelled like raspberries. Something also smelled like dried meat, and not the peppered-mesquite kind.

Wolverine sighed, and patted down the pockets of the uniforms. Locating a shriveled curl that used to be a Human ear, Logan looked around for a trash can. There wasn't one. He put it in the hip pocket of his jeans instead.

Okay, back to business.

Most of Sabretooth's gear was standard. Instead of the deadly and inconspicuous special forces knives that Logan favored, Creed had two Marine-issue K-bars, grips worn smooth and dark from use.

The raspberry smell was from a white baklava, part of Creed's cold-weather gear. Conditioner, probably. Creed was the only one who bothered with that stuff in hostile zones.

There were supposed to be pictures in Creed's locker too, Logan could smell a whiff of silver nitrate. Couldn't find any, though.

Fucking military.

Still, Fury could have just handed him new gear altogether, and hidden more than just a few pictures. What had Nick meant for him to find? Proof that Team X, in some form, had been real?

The ear, maybe?

Or was he saying that he'd expected one or more members of Team X to come back sooner or later anyway?

Wolverine stepped back, thinking. Then he closed his and Creed's lockers, and let Neil back in.

"Find anything you can use?" Neil asked, a gleam of humor not quite hidden behind his steel-framed glasses.

"Yeah, I think I did," Logan nodded, "-I'll be back with my team later. Think you can come up with this in the meantime?" He passed Neil a handwritten list. Neil looked it over.

"New guy?"

"Yeah," Logan smiled, "-hand-to-hand expert. Total cherry, though."

"Does he need any medical supplies? I understand you and Creed don't carry them, but-"

"Actually, yeah. Maverick always carried 'em before," Logan agreed. Kyle wouldn't need them, but they would run into a casualty sooner or later. Besides, the fewer people who knew what Kyle's abilities were, the better.

"Right," Neil scribbled a note onto the end of the list.

* * *

Later that day, Kyle and Sabretooth found Logan outside the post exchange. Kyle was saying something about dirt bikes. Half-sitting half-leaning against a concrete planter up ahead, Logan had finally shucked his jacket in deference to the June heat, which left him in a white a-line, blue jeans, and black motorcycle boots. His hat and jacket lay on the concrete edge beside him, unwatched but still guarded. No-one seemed to be giving the short, scruffy stranger a second glance, military wives and retirees walking past him as if he had no more significance than a new fern in the planter. But Logan shone. He had great shoulders, and a compact, powerful body that could do anything he asked of it. A quiet spark of intelligence lurked in Logan's eyes, like the edge of a knife winking in an otherwise dark room. His blunt, short-nailed hands could defuse bombs, wipe away tears, and kill with barely a touch. The dark, tufted hair smelled like home, and had all the textures of a wolf's winter coat.

Even a little confused, Logan was so blatantly more than the people around him, it was almost funny.

"...Are you?" Kyle was saying.

"What was that?" Creed looked back at him.

"You didn't hear anything I just said," Kyle realized.

Creed shrugged.

"Ah-huh."

"WHAT?"

"You've got a thing for Logan," Kyle guessed, carefully.

"I am NOT takin' dating advice from someone whose EXISTENCE I'm responsible for," Creed said, flatly. The young always fucked this logic up. Attraction wasn't cute, and it damn well didn't always work out the way you wanted it to. The last thing Creed needed was to have someone with the mentality of a high school kid trying to hook up his two pet adults.

"Uh- -never mind," Kyle sighed.

"What's the word, Logan?" Creed called over to his distraction.

"Wha'd ya do, lose the directions?" Logan asked, as Creed and Kyle walked up.

"Yes," Creed told him, grinning.

"Liar. I found us equipment. Some of it's a little old, but it all works."

"They still have our Team X stuff here," Creed said, after a moment's thought.

"Exactly. Speakin' o' which-" Logan tossed Creed something about the size of a pack of matches. Creed looked at it briefly, then closed his hand.

"Oh yeah, that."

"What is it?" asked Kyle, sniffing. Creed passed him the dried ear. "Oh! ...That's different."

"Anyway, I found your gear and mine," Logan continued, "Maverick's stuff's there too. If the contact Fury gave us comes through with the updated stuff and Kyle's gear, we should be outta here by tonight."

"Where to from there?" Creed asked.

"A chopper from here to some Air National Guard base, and then we're riding with a KC-135 refueler down to Pope, in North Carolina. That's the jump-off point."

"And you took that?" Creed looked dubious.

"There's a C-5 headin' out tomorrow night, if you don't mind flyin' coach with half the American Army," Logan shrugged.

"I'd rather buy the tickets myself."

"Leaving tonight, we got a Hercules," Logan assured him. "You remember those, right?"

"Let me get this straight... You finally make the call, bring me WITH you, and Nick won't even give you a plane to yerself?"

"Covert ingress," Logan explained.

"Riiiiigggght," Creed nodded skeptically, "-he'd better not have pulled this bull with our equipment."

"We open the orders when we get t-" Logan stopped. "Kyle, what are you chewing on?"

Kyle blinked, stopped chewing, then looked very, very guilty. His hands were empty.

Logan put a hand over his eyes in disbelief.

Creed threw his head back and laughed.

-


	3. FNG

Title: How's it Gonna Be?

Chapter 3: F.N.G.  
Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth  
Rating: NC-17/R  
Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.  
Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured.  
Summary: "F.N.G." Military slang. Short for, "fuckin' new guy".

* * *

Dawn. Pope AFB was a flat, sprawling complex of old buildings, parking ramps and taxiways, smack dab in the middle of an Army base. A line of fighter planes at the other end of the ramp were preparing to launch, and rings of blue and orange flame from the tail-pipes flickered on in the early morning dimness like the burners of a gas stove.

The scream of the engines would have been deafening up close, but from across the base it wasn't bad. Wildchild rolled the collar of his black turtleneck down a little, and pulled up the sleeves of his fatigues past the elbow. Seemed like pretty heavy clothes for going to Africa, but what did he know?

Most of the stuff Kyle had gotten back at the Ft. Drum supply depot, he already knew how to use. Having bounced from one black-bag super-team to another will do that. It was still cool, but there was a humid edge to the air this morning that promised a hot day ahead, though they wouldn't be here to see it. Wildchild couldn't believe how fast things had moved. This time last week, he'd been asleep in the back of the band bus, recovering from a show in Ottawa. Now he was about to deploy for God-knew-where with his father and Logan, and that meant NOBODY within fifty years of his own age. Maybe more like a hundred, the rumors differed about that part. He could ask, though... Nah.

Wildchild double-checked his M9. It still wasn't loaded. He holstered the pistol, and snapped the strap over the back of the grip. The ammo clips were on his belt, 'nonstandard mags' whatever that meant, three of them in small green fabric snap-pouches. Two more clips than Sabretooth had told him he would ever need, in a real firefight. That comment had earned Sabretooth a roll of the eyes from Wolverine.

The big stuff was already loaded on the plane. Not much of it belonged to Wildchild, and he was vaguely glad of this. Of all the things he'd gotten at Ft. Drum, it was the flat, sturdy survival knife strapped to his thigh that actually made him feel better. He'd gotten it at the PX on a whim, a Smith and Wesson HRT, with a total length barely more than his wrist to the tips of his fingers. The blade had been colored black somehow, except for the sharpened edge, and there was a hole in the end of the black plastic grip, to which he'd added a loop of green parachute cord because the empty hole looked out of place. It was his, now.

* * *

"Kid's getting antsy," Creed told Wolverine, watching Kyle check his gun again.

"He's got every right to be," Wolverine growled, "-did ya see the gear they just loaded? That was cold weather stuff. I don't know where we're goin', but it sure ain't AFRICA."

"Gee, snow and ice," Creed grinned, "-how will we -ever- cope?"

"I just don't like it," Logan folded his arms.

"You wanna bail, the time is now. Fury's already broken his end with the cold weather shit. You sure you want to do this op?"

"'Course," Wolverine snapped.

Creed glanced around the ready room, and saw that the only other person within sight was a sergeant writing the day's flying schedule on a dry erase-board, with his back turned.

Perfect.

Creed turned quickly, pinned Logan's arms down by gripping the material of both of sleeves where they crossed on Logan's chest, and kissed him.

"Mnn!?" Logan bit Creed's tongue. Creed let go, and then drew back with a thin sheen of red on his lips, which he licked off. Logan watched him do it.

So... this wasn't just about Kyle after all.

Creed's blood tasted good, and it seemed to focus Logan's thoughts.

"Optimistic sort, ain't ya," Logan observed.

"I just like the way you taste," Creed purred.

"Izzat a fact?" Logan murmured, turning to the flight crew, who had just come in from the OPS building, coffee cups in hand.

/Did he just-/ Creed glanced back at his companion.

Logan ignored him pointedly.

* * *

"I swear to GOD doctor, if one more unauthorized chump calls me on this private, secret, Pentagon-scrambled phone line, I'm having it cut off!" Nick Fury screamed into the receiver, "-now what the hell do you WANT?!"

"Er-" Beast looked at the phone dubiously, and wondered if he should have just-

"You are WASTING my TIME," Fury stated, coldly.

"This is Dr. Henry McCoy. I'm looking for a friend. -Wolverine. I don't suppose you-"

"I know where he is," Fury interrupted, "-why should I tell you?"

"I have some information that may be invaluable to him."

"You don't say. Why don't you call him yourself, if you're such good buds?"

"He prefers not to carry a phone," said Beast, starting to get impatient with being stone-walled.

"Anyone else you could call?" Fury hinted.

"I bloody tried that!" Beast snarled. "He won't permit me to talk to Wolverine. Let me guess, our intrepid Canadian friends are as we speak on a plane for some exotic foreign locale at least an ocean or two away?" Beast guessed.

"What are you gettin' at?" Fury demanded.

"My point is, Sabretooth has been systematically cutting Wolverine off from the rest of us. I would have seen it weeks ago, if the target in question hadn't been, well, WOLVERINE."

"You're sayin'..." Fury was paying attention now, "-that when they step off that plane, they'll vanish, and the next time anybody gets a bead on Wolverine, we'll be dealing with a Patty Hearst case?"

"With the right leverage, Wolverine CAN be broken. It's happened in the past and you know that. ...Do you really think a child like Wildheart wouldn't be enough leverage to achieve this?" Beast challenged.

"You're almost talkin' sense, McCoy, and I don't like it," Fury decided.

"Will you call back the plane?" McCoy asked, anxiously.

"Can't do it."

"Why?!"

"Logan's team jumped four hours ago," Fury told him, simply.

"I see," Beast said, in a small voice.

"Something you should know, Doc."

"What's that?"

"I've known Wolverine one HELL of a lot longer than you, and he is NOT some PANSY-ASS HOSTAGE."

"I'm glad you feel strongly enough about that to have just risked his sanity on it," McCoy snapped.

"This is over your head, Doctor," warned Fury.

"I can see this conversation is over," said McCoy, icily, "-I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Colonel."

"Doc, do you know how Sabretooth learned German?" Fury broke into McCoy's parting shot.

"No, I do not."

"Wolverine set him up. Sabretooth spent three weeks strapped to the wall of a basement in Munich. At the end of that time, Wolverine busted him out. ...And not before, get me?"

"I'm sure Wolverine-" began McCoy.

"Sabretooth speaks five languages," Fury interrupted again, "-An' that's three clicks past coincidence, son," with that, the phone went dead in Beast's hand.

* * *

Moments later...

On the command deck of the helicarrier, Nick Fury's phone rang. Again.

"Who the fuck-" he demanded.

"Nicholas?"

"Oh," Fury sighed, canceling the rant he'd had planned for the next five minutes, "-sorry, doll. It's been that kind of day."

And as he spoke, several states away a lone C-130 cargo plane took off, headed East into the morning sun.

* * *

Wildchild yawned. He'd been up all night, watching the lights of the Eastern seaboard through the window of the chopper, then the refueler plane. The only thing out the window now was waves, waves, and still more waves. Too bright to look at for long, the Atlantic reminded him of a wide, flat, glacier lake. The C-130 Hercules was a very old airplane, smelling comfortably of hydraulic fluid, sun-baked leather seatbelt fastenings, and musty insulation blanketing. There was a great mountain of drab green duffel bags packed onto a series of wooden pallets towards the front of the cargo compartment, and at the back, Team X's gear was secured to a similar pallet, and rigged with a parachute. A wooden-crated helicopter engine was situated between these two mounds, held down by a taut spider-web of thick white cargo straps that were as hard as wood to the touch. Aside from the color scheme, it was remarkably like being back on the band bus.

Sabretooth had claimed a bunk near the front of the cargo compartment, growling viciously at an engineer who tried to talk him out of it. The engineer muttered something about those who breathe too little oxygen on high-altitude jumps, and retreated back up to the flight deck to sit with the pilots. Logan had watched this exchange with a slight smirk, and found a comfortable hollow on top of the green duffel-bag pile in which to pass out himself. Kyle could see him up there, one dark tuft of hair sticking up just above the level of the bags. Wildchild climbed to the top of the pile, and looked down at Logan thoughtfully.

He'd never really seen him asleep before. It had to be the engine noise, muffling his approach. Usually by the time he snuck up this close to a sleeping Wolverine, he would be looking at slitted eyes and bared claws.

But no.

Logan was still asleep, curled up on his side amidst the bags.

"Quit hoverin' and bed down, will ya?" Wolverine mumbled.

Kyle felt sheepish, and lay down a few feet away from where Logan was. He had to shift a few of the bags around until nothing hard was poking him, but after that it was surprisingly comfortable. Kyle slept.

* * *

Logan-

/Cold. Everywhere is ice, and it's grown thick over the blood on my claws. Heavy. Nothing feels right. Keep walking. Got to keep moving, or I'll never move again, keep going through nothing to the edge of the white, the edge of the blackness. Cold... so cold...

I smell something.

No. I can't smell anything now. I see an edge of rock up ahead, and I walk towards it. The ice is a mask around my face, cementing my hair into a sort of shield against the wind. If I touch it, if I touch me, I'll break forever. I keep walking, and my foot sinks in up to the hip.

There's something down there. I put my other foot in the same spot, and the snow beneath me gives way, and I slide down into the dark.

I'm not alone.

Something is waking up.

As my eyes narrow to see what it is, I see the bear.

Huge, hot brown shadow. Shaggy and sharp, one of his paws cuffs me against the cement snow of the cave wall. My forehead hits an unseen edge, and I hear a cracking like wood, and a faint ring of metal.

That's my HEAD.

The bear bellows behind me, and I turn, claws up. He is angry. I am angry too.

He is alive, and he is strong, and he is warm, and he has not just walked through a mountain snowstorm, but I am alive too, and I am hungry.

I want to live, and my hunger is stronger than his rage.

He dies.

My fists are buried up to the elbows in the bear's chest, and as the ice covering my fingers begins to melt, I scream.

But he's warm, this bear. And he gives his life, his heat, to me as I eat him.

Full now, and I can't keep my eyes open.

I sink down against the thick matted side of my kill, and know no more./

* * *

Wolverine awoke to the feeling of someone stroking his hair. Creed stopped when he saw that Logan was awake, and folded his arms on top of the duffel bag beside Logan's head. Logan stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"You were dreaming," Creed offered.

"I know."

"Didn't look like a whole lotta fun."

"It had a good ending," Logan yawned.

"How so?"

"I got to eat the bear, 'stead of the other way around."

Creed laughed.

"You hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Figures," Creed smirked.

"Is the kid awake?" Logan asked.

"See fer yourself," Creed pointed to where Kyle had burrowed partway down into the duffel bag pile, like he planned to hibernate there.

"Huh," Logan smiled.

* * *

It was nearly sundown when Kyle awoke, and the light slanting in the small, round windows was a deep amber yellow. Kyle dug his way out the side of the pile of bags, and dusted himself off. Wolverine and Sabretooth were already awake, checking the rigging of the drop-chute gear, and making last adjustments to their own packs. Logan noticed him, and pointed to a large brown paper bag sitting on the wooden engine box. It contained torn paper wrappers, and an unopened turkey sandwich. Kyle had been picturing some kind of sealed military ration bar, but this worked too. As he ate, Kyle watched Logan and Creed prepping for the jump, and wished he knew enough about what they were doing to help out. Which he didn't.

Creed had tied his hair back into a ponytail, Kyle noted. Was that better for jumping? Kyle fished out a black elastic band from a side pocket of his rucksack, and tied his own wild blonde hair back. The sides and nape of his neck felt exposed, but his field of vision opened up a little.

Creed came over and ran through what to do before, and during, a parachute jump. Logan had given Kyle the same checklist while they were taxiing out from Pope, but Kyle was glad to hear it again. Creed looked way too happy about being the last jumper though, and Kyle wondered what he was in for, being the second.

Red light. The howl of the wind through the mouth of the open cargo ramp ruled out any talking, and dropping away behind the plane, was a gulf of sky that just didn't seem real. In the light of a half-moon, Wildchild's eyes could pick out mountains and snowfields, like features on a giant map. Where the hell were they? Russia? It hadn't been that long, had it?

Green light.

A green-suited crewman tugged on a pair of thick red straps, releasing the pallet with Team X's gear, and as it dropped away, Logan was already running towards the end of the ramp. Kyle saw the flash of sharp white teeth as Logan looked back at them, grinning. He went off the ramp sideways, and turned skillfully in the empty air, to watch rest of the jump. That looked like fun.

Besides, if Kyle didn't go now, Creed would just shove him off the ramp anyway.

Wildchild went for it.

* * *

There was a moment of absolute panic when he realized that he was airborne, but Kyle managed not to tear any of his straps off, or pull the ripcord early. That was good, but he was falling every which-way. Whatever Logan's trick of swimming through air like water was, Kyle didn't know it. Air... Water... Hmmm...

Kyle tried to glide to the right, moving his arms like wings. He succeeded in doing an abrupt corkscrew. Matching what he was doing with his right arm to his left, mirror-image, Kyle stopped spinning. As easy as falling off a log. Yeah right.

There was one dark dot above him, and two below him. Kyle noticed that fighting the air or trying to 'fly' did actually slow him down, but folding his arms at his sides made him fall faster. The air was bitterly cold up here.

But goddamn, he was FLYING! No wonder Jean Paul had spent so much time with the sky.

This was great!

Of course, his parachute could still be a dud...

/If I was anyone else/ Kyle reflected, /they woulda let me practice this jump. Just because I CAN pull my elbow out of my ribcage and live, doesn't mean I WANT to.../

He'd been diving while he thought this, and Kyle leveled off frantically after realizing he'd passed something. As the world stopped whirling, Kyle saw Wolverine falling about thirty feet to the left and in front of him. Logan made a hands-down gesture, and Kyle nodded. Stay there. Logan glided closer through the empty night air, and at last, grabbed Kyle's hands.

Kyle grabbed back, hard. Solid. Solid was good.

Logan's dark eyes shone behind the face-plate of his goggles, crinkling at the edges, and even with the errors Kyle was probably making, their flight pattern had all but completely stabilized.

Kyle had always thought of parachuting as a way to appear magically on the ground behind enemy lines in cheap movies.

Several minutes later Creed joined them, rocking the formation for a second as the wind flow shifted. He didn't seem to be as self-assured as Logan was in this environment, but he clearly knew what he was doing. The wind was deafening, and so there was silence. The mountains opened up beneath them, faint trails becoming rivers, flecks of white becoming frozen clearings. Trees. TREES? Trees were bad, right? Kyle had seen enough war movies to know THAT much...

Logan and Creed seemed to be arguing, and they kept looking at the altimeter dials on their wrists. Kyle had never learned how to lip-read, so he couldn't hear exactly what was being said.

The argument ended with Creed pulling Logan's ripcord, and Logan swearing down at him loud enough to be heard over the wind as his parachute jerked him upwards and out of the circle.

Creed touched the plastic grip of his own ripcord, said one word, and pushed Kyle away from him into the slipstream. Kyle pulled the ripcord, and the upward jerk of the harness knocked the wind out him. Then the wind dropped abruptly, and Kyle saw Creed's parachute open just below and about a hundred feet ahead of his. They were coming in slowly over a rocky snowfield, and the gear landed first, small wooden pallet breaking apart on impact. The ground looked good and bad at the same time. At least it wasn't trees. Creed landed hard, going down in a tangle of parachute risers and dark rocks. Kyle hit the ground next, scrabbling for purchase on a patch of shale, and finally being pulled forward onto his knees by the wind catching his half-open parachute. Logan touched down last, nearly at the edge of the snow field, releasing his parachute just before he actually landed, and dropping the last five feet to land lightly on a sharp outcropping. Kyle was halfway through cutting himself free of his own parachute with the black-handled knife by then, and Logan left him to it, heading over to sort out Creed instead.

Kyle took that as the compliment it was.

"Don't flamin' touch me," Creed warned, slashing his way out of the nylon spaghetti with one of his K-bars. Logan obliged him, and lit a cigar while he waited. Kyle, finally free of the parachute and all of it's associated webbing, weighted the mess down with a large triangular rock, and cut an arm's length of cord from one of the risers. He put it in his pocket, and walked up the field to where the equipment pallet had landed. Surprisingly, the only thing that had actually broken was the wooden pallet itself and a long black plastic box, like a pool-stick case. It smelled suspiciously like fireworks, so Kyle left it alone.

* * *

"What do we got, Logan?" Creed asked, as Wolverine read their orders, torn-open yellow envelope under one arm. From high up the side of a mountain overlooking the field where they had touched down, the foot-tracks crisscrossing in the snow around the remains of the pallet looked like a target. The pallet itself had since been broken up into three packs and everybody's guns, but piling rocks on the boards would only work as camouflage if the snow melted, or more fell on top of it, and covering them up with snow would have looked even worse. They couldn't stay here long.

"Says here we're goin' after a nasty little package called 'shipment 12.'"

"That tells us jack shit," Creed snorted, around the end of the cigar he'd acquired earlier.

"It also says we can't bring any friendlies in OR out. No prisoners, either," Logan continued.

"Not that I'm complainin' about the last part, but you do know what this means, don't you?"

"Bio-weapons." nodded Logan.

"Yup," agreed Creed, "-it's a doc hunt."

"Figures," shrugged Kyle.

"Oh yeah, you DID work for the government before..." recalled Creed, amused.

"Where are we, anyway?" Kyle asked, looking doubtfully at the topographical map weighted down by a rock and one of Logan's knives.

"This might sound funny to ya, but we're in Georgia," Logan told him.

"Georgia?..." Kyle repeated.

"The one that used to be part of Russia," Logan explained.

"Oh. Right," Kyle made a mental note to lay hands on a world map at some point. He knew Russia was before China and past Germany, but ...Georgia?!

"Just be glad he didn't expect ya to know where Madripoor was," Creed pointed out, amused.

* * *

By sunrise, the map had led them many kilometers to the Northwest. Logan was walking point, and Kyle was just behind him. Creed trailed the other two, watching them as much as the woods around them. One good thing about Kyle was that he didn't waste time stating the obvious or asking stupid frickin' questions. Yes, they were gonna walk until Logan or Creed called a halt. No, there didn't seem to be anyone else around for miles. Hey, look at the squirrels.

-No.

Kyle just kept his mouth shut, watched the game in the underbrush with detached predatory interest, and kept up. As much as Creed liked Kyle's attitude, he had to wonder who had beaten it into him. Not Logan, if he was any judge, and he -knew- Logan's work. Maybe Kyle was just one of those rare people who kept his own council.

/Where have I seen THAT before.../ Creed thought, wryly.

Logan still hadn't seen fit to tell Kyle about the genetic connection between himself and the boy, and Creed wondered if it was because Logan hadn't believed what Creed had told him at the lake, or because Logan had plain FORGOTTEN. That happened sometimes.

Maybe Logan just didn't give a shit WHO Kyle was, since the kid was already one of his protégés. /Kyle might wanna know, though, y'ever think of THAT?/

Logan called a halt and they camped in a hollow under the thick crisscrossing branches of two old pine trees. Nobody bothered with a sleeping bag. Logan took first watch as Kyle and Sabretooth slept, listening to the wind through the pine needles overhead.

* * *

Creed-

/I see him just off the back porch of the cabin, talking to HER again. Girl's bad fucking medicine. Any fool can tell what she's about, even this young. Even her name is 'foxy-somethin' for cryin' out loud. Logan doesn't see it. He can't. He don't smell the hands that have been on her. It's none of my damn business what the Indians do with their own, but Logan is MINE. Like hell will this two-bit TRAMP of a squaw use him for whatever scam she's got planned.

I'm tryin', dammit. I warned 'im. Why won't he listen to me?

Why does he take her word over mine? He don't even know her!

Why can't he just shut up and trust me for once?

I'm gonna beat the tar out of him. Maybe then he'll remember why.

I can fight with 'im or I can protect 'im, but if I got ta do both...

I walk over. I mean business. I don't really sound like that, do I?

He lies to my face.

That. Is. It.

I go ta town on him. Fraulien Panzer could do better, but I'm not tryin' ta kill the boy.

...Waitaminute. Fraulien Panzer doesn't happen until the forties. The nineteen forties.

I'm dreamin'.

And just like that, I'm in a bar in Ottawa someplace. Don't know the name of the joint, but I remember the bar real good. The juke box plays old stuff, nothin' after sixty two or thereabouts. Logan's s'posed ta meet me here, and he never does.

I glare at the jukebox, and for once I wish it would play somethin' else. 'White Rabbit' would sound good right about now, but that didn't come out 'till sixty-seven.

Damn./

* * *

"Hey," pat, pat.

"Hunh?" Kyle scrunched his eyes shut against the mid-day sun, and sat up in the pine needles. Logan was crouched beside him, hand on his shoulder.

"Your watch, kid."

"Uhhh... Uh, right. When do I wake him up again?" Kyle asked, yawning.

"Sixteen hundred. Four-ish," Logan told him.

"Got it," Kyle screwed the top off of his canteen, and drank some water. "G'night, Logan."

"G'night, kid."

* * *

Logan-

/Something's different. Air from outside feels warm. Getting lighter too. I wake up, and go back to sleep again. Later I wake, and it's dark outside. I'm hungry, so I eat part of the bear's paw. Not much of the bear left in his skin now. This was such a good place to stay for the winter. Safe. Snug. Lots of meat. I just curled in around myself, and slept, and I was warm.

I am stronger now, than when I fell down here.

I sleep, but I have woken up once, and I know I can't stay here forever.

At sunrise, I wake and hear something outside. One faint, trilling call, answered by another.

Marmots, greeting the sun.

It's not as far up to the hole as I thought it was. There's a slope up to the sky. I start climbing, and I slip. From the bottom of the cave, I look up at the opening, puzzled.

I start climbing again, and this time I make it, hauling myself out onto the unmarked bright, white snow outside. I stay on hands and knees for a long time, waiting for my eyes to adjust. All the smells are loud up here, and the breeze is so clean it's almost sharp. The marmots finish their sun-greeting, and the pine woods creak softly as the sun begins heating them. I hear a noisy stream down below somewhere. The wind is cool, but the sun is warm. The snow is patchy, and strips of wild grasses and heather grow in the spaces between. I crawl over to the grass, and watch a shiny green beetle opening and closing the shell over it's wings. It flies away.

I lie back in the long green stalks, and the wind plays with my hair. I got away. I'm free.

Is this what freedom feels like?

The wind that blows is all that any body knows.

Right now, that's all I need./

* * *

Kyle considered the problem before him. He'd never had to wake up Sabretooth before. Creed snored, in a low, rhythmic way that reminded Kyle of a big cat purring. It figured. While Kyle was in Alpha Flight, he'd taken a CPR course that said the best way to see if someone was unconscious without leaving yourself open to attack was to kick their foot a few times.

That could work. Kicking. Maybe not such a hot idea.

Creed struck Kyle as a dog person. Maybe he should lick his face and see if that did the trick.

Hand on the shoulder was automatically out.

Calling Creed's cell phone would have worked, except that Kyle didn't have a phone.

Maybe poking him with a stick?

"Hey dad, wake up," Kyle said softly, trying not to wake up Logan too.

Creed scowled, eyes still closed, and patted around on the ground in front of him, looking for a pillow to cover his head with. /I've had days like that/ Kyle thought, amused.

"-C'mon man, it's your watch-" -something about the word 'watch' seemed to get through, and Sabretooth opened his eyes.

"What is it?"

"No problem, It's just ah, your turn to watch," said Kyle.

Creed checked his watch.

"Hrm," Creed sat up, scratched his head, and brushed a few pine needles out of his hair, "-fine. Rack out, boy."

Kyle stretched out between Creed and Logan, and looked up at the branches over his head, thinking.

"I said rack out," Creed repeated, a little irritated.

"Did, um... Have you ever done something, and had no idea why you did it?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah," Creed replied.

"What was it?" Kyle gambled, sitting up a little.

"Go to sleep," Creed pushed Kyle's head back down with one hand, firmly.

Kyle closed his eyes, then opened one a minute later, stealthily.

"Kyle, I know I said 'sleep', but I'll settle for unconscious."

Kyle slept.

* * *

Kyle-

/Wolves in the snow. Powerful, and so fast it looks like they can fly. Blood-spray like a water balloon, and the snowshoe hare's history, a trailing mess between long sharp teeth. I'm there with the pack, but I'm almost Human, naked, crouching between two of the wolves, soft spring snow pressing up between my toes. I can see my breath faintly in the air in front of me. The wolves shouldn't accept me, I'm not one of them. The leader cleans the blood off of his muzzle with his long pink tongue, looking me in the eyes as he does it.

He's going to kill me.

He pads up until we are nose to nose, and I can't move. I'm terrified and unlike that rabbit, I'm frozen to the spot. Wolf eyes.

He turns his head to the side, never breaking eye contact, and his lip curls up to show me his fangs.

I don't want to die.

I can smell the fresh blood on the wolf's warm breath. He bites my throat, and I fall backwards into the snow, with his heavy forepaws planted on my chest. I can't even scream, my throat won't work. Two of the others are looking down at me, curiously.

I'm still alive.

He's just holding me DOWN by my throat, he hasn't broken skin.

And then, as I realize this, the leader lets go with his jaws and pulls his head back to look at me again. One of the other wolves nuzzles him under the chin. The leader breaks eye contact with me to glance down at the other wolf, though both of his paws are still holding me so I don't go anywhere.

I close my eyes for a-

It's warm and dark suddenly, and I'm out of the wind. I try to open my eyes, but I can't remember how. Something very big is licking me. I feel the wolf's whiskers brush against my face, and there is warm fur at my back. I know this smell.

I am safer here than I can ever remember being./

* * *

Sundown. Creed leaned down and blew softly across Logan's ear. The ear, Human though it looked, twitched as if troubled by a flea. Creed blew across it again. Logan woke up, took note of the sky's color, and disentangled himself from Kyle, who had snuggled under his arm sometime during the day.

Better not to wake him up in that position. Young guys got all bent out of shape over stuff like this, and Kyle was self-conscious enough as it was. /I gotta wonder who he thought I was, though... Does Kyle have a girlfriend?/ Logan thought.

Creed, digging something out of the top of his pack, watched Logan's careful retreat and started laughing.

"Stow it, Creed," Logan warned.

"Ahh, he's just sayin' he knows you," Creed purred, "-are you ever gonna tell him you're the other one, or what?"

"I've known you long enough to check my facts first," Logan told him.

"Hey! If you're gonna get all high-and-mighty like that, why didn't you call McCoy when you had the chance?"

"From a military-monitored phone, or worse, YOURS?" Logan retorted.

"Er-"

Kyle woke up, ending the argument.

Twenty minutes later they were on the move again, quiet, deadly shadows passing beneath the trees, heading Northwest.

* * *

The compound marked on the mission target map was built on into the side of a steep, rocky hill. High, unpainted concrete walls were blocked together at right angles, like a prison. It had all the earmarks of a former military outpost bought out by a private company, which it was, but there was a faint, noxious, yeasty smell about the place, like the stench of a brewery. The well-maintained military grade electric fence and razor-wire didn't add up either. This was the place, all right. Growing right up to the edge of the electric fence, a thick mat of blackberry brambles covered the hillside. Wolverine thought he could make out the skeleton of a crashed jeep in one particularly high patch. Kyle had collected a handful of berries, and was eating them while they studied the target.

"Looks simple to me," Creed decided, "-hop the fence, ace the guards, and follow our noses."

"What IS that smell?" Wildchild asked.

"Bacteria. E-coli, probably," Logan explained, "-when you wanna mass-produce a bio-weapon, you get the strain you want, and then you grow it in somethin' else that's got DNA simple enough to re-write. Beast gave me a rundown on it once."

"Then... isn't that smell exposing anyone who breathes it?" Kyle asked, concerned.

"Nah. They'd go through guards too fast that way," shrugged Creed, "-what's your worry? It's not like WE can catch it."

"Uh, this may not be the best time to say this, but I've never been exposed to a seriously bad disease before," Kyle said, uncomfortably.

"You got shots while you were with Alpha Flight, right?"

"Yes..."

"And while everybody else felt like crap and bitched about having sore arms, what happened to you?"

"Nothing."

"Then you're good," Creed assured him, cheerfully, "-now let's get started here."

* * *

They hit the facility about an hour before sunrise. Wolverine rigged an electrical bypass on the fence with a length of razor wire, and cut through the bottom of the chain-link. The fact that there had been a pair of thick rubber gloves and an industrial-strength Leatherman in his gear suggested that the Intel on this place might actually be good. That would be nice, but Logan still wasn't counting on it. Creed and Kyle's packs were hidden in the blackberry bushes down below, but Logan still had his, and most of it was explosives. Kyle was rear-guard for this op, and Creed had point. The guards at the downhill entrance were wearing gray uniforms with blue and white corporate patches in Russian on the shoulders, and no nametags. Sabretooth climbed the rough concrete wall over the doorway, waited until the guards had just made their radio check-in, then dropped down on them claws-first. The loudest noise was the sharp 'thack' of a dropped radio bouncing off a rock below. They were in.

There was a black and white sign on the wall just past the entrance and before a set of steel elevator doors, with a building map on it showing three floors. Wolverine loved these things. No matter how secret a facility was, the eggheads always had to know how to get to work in the morning.

"Where?" Creed asked, covering the right branch the hallway.

"Up one floor, and then down two," Logan told him.

"Say what?"

"Move yer ass, and take the stairs," Logan clarified.

* * *

One floor higher, the stairwell opened onto a four-sided mezzanine. A double-walled glass window separated the mezzanine from a factory floor three feet lower, where a series of metal canisters interconnected by clear tubes sent up whiffs of noxious-looking steam. There were ten people monitoring the equipment and taking readings, all sealed inside blue bio-suits with clear plastic facemasks. There were a pair of clear airlocks separating this half of the mezzanine from the mezzanine on the far side. The toxic-brewery smell was stronger inside the first set of airlocks. Logan set a charge against the corner of the wall and the first airlock once they'd all gone through it. It was still a long way to the far side of the mezzanine, where they had to go next, and one of the blue-suits below was bound to look up sooner or later, unless...

Creed sighted the shot carefully, and put a rifle round in the electrical outlet providing power to an operating centrifuge down on the floor. Alarms went off as the centrifuge started losing speed, and the blue-suits scrambled for the fire extinguishers. A whistle of air rushed into the bullet hole from the mezzanine side of the sturdy glass, and Creed slapped his palm over it before the rise in pressure in the vacuum-sealed lab below set off building-wide alarms. He was buying maybe five minutes, but what the hell. Creed turned to Logan.

"You got some duct tape?"

Logan considered the size of the bullet hole, and cut off a half-inch-thick slice of C-4. He pressed it carefully into place as soon as Creed moved his hand, plastic-wrapper side first. The plastic would tear soon, but for now it had just enough strength to keep the C-4 from oozing through the hole like toothpaste. He didn't bother with a detonator for this one.

"Sweet," Creed grinned. Kyle wondered if the vacuum-seal on the window meant they still hadn't been exposed to the whatever-it-was yet.

"Let's go," said Logan, pointing to the double doors at the far side of the mezzanine.

Just then, the central alarm went off.

* * *

They ran for it. Making it to the door, Creed kicked it open, blowing the vacuum-seal on the factory lab to hell once and for all. The guards coming out of the elevator were not amused. THEY knew what the loss of containment meant, and they wanted to take full payment out of the hide of the psychopath who had just dropped the hammer on them. Lead hail blasted back into the factory room, killing most of the blue-suited workers, and dropping Creed to his knees. Kyle watched the elevator doors at the far side of the mezzanine start to open, and opened fire without waiting to see who or what came out. Logan tossed a grenade through the kicked-open doors into the elevator, and it bounced off the boot of one of the guards who were shooting at them, skittering sideways. Logan took cover behind the doorjamb, yanking Creed back along with him by the back of his equipment harness.

"Kyle! MOVE!" Logan yelled.

Kyle turned towards the sound of the shout, a mistake that's gotten a lot of people killed over the years. /Oh, HELL.../ thought Logan, with a mental wince.

The grenade went off.

Splash six guards. Kyle blew backwards through the railing of the mezzanine, and onto the floor of the lab, taking out a computer console on the way. Hoping Creed would pull together enough to give him covering fire soon, Logan jumped down after Wildchild. The kid was in bad shape, but not as bad as it had looked from the mezzanine. He looked more stunned than anything else, though he was still unconscious. The reason for this became clear when Logan started to hoist him up on one shoulder. Trying not to think about it, Logan felt along the bloody patch at the back of Kyle's head with his fingers, searching for any embedded shards from the computer console. There weren't any.

The guards that Kyle had been shooting at across the room started to recover at that point, and a few shots nicked the floor at Logan's feet. An answering burst of full-auto sounded from Creed's end of the mezzanine, dropping two of the guards and forcing the remaining pair back into the shelter of the elevator. Logan took up Kyle and ran for the steps that used to lead up from the factory lab to one of the airlocks, broken glass cracking and grinding beneath his boots as he pounded up them back to the mezzanine. Creed paused for a moment to change magazines, and then kept firing.

"CONTAINMENT SHIELD I COMPROMISED. ALL LEVELS, STAND BY FOR BIO-HAZARD CONTAINMENT, SHIELD II," the PA system announced, in Russian.

"Elevator! NOW!" Creed yelled. Logan was halfway there already. Creed followed him in, and hit the 'door close' button. The elevator door started to shut, hit the leg of a dead guard, and slid open again. Creed kicked the body out of the elevator with a single vicious blow, and hit the button again. The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, and locked behind them.

* * *

After the firefight outside, the elevator was deafeningly silent. Creed pressed the 'down' arrow. Nothing happened. Creed sighed wearily, and turned to Logan.

"How's the kid?"

"Alive," Logan said, shortly. Creed inspected the bloody tangles at the back of Kyle's head, and sniffed him a few times.

"No spinal fluid," Creed decided, "-just blood. He's fine, Logan."

"I know," Logan swallowed, easing Kyle down onto the floor of the elevator. "Elevator's off?"

"Yeah," Creed nodded, "-that must be part of 'KONTINMENT SHIELD TWO'. -Big fucking surprise."

The floor of the elevator compartment was solid. Logan looked at the ceiling. He could cut through it, but the trick was to do so in such a way as to not to snap the elevator cables. In old, cold-war-era complexes like this one, you never knew HOW far down the elevator shaft went.

"Boost me up," Logan instructed, fishing a small plasma torch out of one of his equipment pouches. Creed obliged him.

Logan flicked the plasma torch on, and started cutting. Creed stood as still as he could, and watched the cuts on Kyle's face and neck heal. It was beautiful, in a way. Wet, red flowers sealing shut to leave smooth, unbroken skin and blood-streaks of pain memory. He'd only ever seen it happen on himself and Logan before. Kyle was new.

After what felt like far, FAR too long, there was a low moan of pain from the floor, and Kyle clutched his head with both hands. Logan looked down at the miserable shape stirring on the floor, grinned, and went back to cutting the ceiling.

"Welcome back, dogmeat!" Creed called down to him, "-ya lose anything?"

"Uhhhghhh..." Kyle whimpered. He felt the sticky wetness in his hair, and looked at the blood on his fingers when he pulled them back. "What-?... ...tha' hurt..."

"Ya caught a pineapple, Kyle," Creed explained, "-how'd it taste?"

"Sharp," Kyle winced, putting a hand to the back of his head again. "-What's going on? ...Did we win?"

"It's a work in progress," Creed admitted, "-once we get outta this can, we can mop up and book."

"Oh, please," Logan cut in, "-we haven't even found the primary TARGET yet."

"Shut up and slice," Creed grumbled.

"Don't tempt me."

* * *

Sliding down to the end of the elevator cable, Kyle wiped the dark grease off of his palms on the side of his camo pants. Creed was trying to open the elevator doors at this level, but had only managed to get them open a crack. Kyle noticed a worn metal latch, low down on the bottom edge of one of the doors, and kicked it in. The doors opened.

Kyle and Creed looked at each other, and neither of them said anything.

Logan landed softly at the bottom of the elevator shaft behind them, and dusted his hands off.

"That was good," Creed told Kyle.

"Thanks."

Logan looked from one to the other, and then noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a movement in the parking garage beyond the elevator doors. It was a diesel panel truck, starting to pull out. Unless the tires were nearly flat, it had a full cargo.

"Nail that thing!" Logan yelled, opening fire. The truck turned it's front wheels, and the driver stepped on the accelerator. Creed shot out one of the back tires. Kyle shot the back doors once, clicked on an empty chamber, and had to change mags. Logan ran out of the elevator doors to the left, trying to get an angle on the driver himself. The driver ground into gear desperately, and floored it.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty..." Creed coaxed the truck, sighting along his gun to the control box of the garage door. He fired. Nothing. He fired again. The door made a high electrical whine, and started sliding downwards like a portcullis. Just as the driver was almost certain to make it out ahead of the door, Logan shot him through the left ear. The truck stopped accelerating, and the heavy steel garage door slammed down on the truck's engine block with a sickening metallic crunch. Logan walked out into the pale morning sun, and keyed his radio.

* * *

"Shanghai, this is Wolverine. Come in."

After a pause, the radio answered.

"Wolverine, Shanghai here. Is number twelve secure?"

"Intel advise. Has anything left the mission site?" Logan asked.

"Negative."

Logan looked back over his shoulder at Creed, who was leaning out of the rear of the truck and giving him a thumbs-up.

"Number twelve is secure, Shanghai," Logan reported, "-team X is intact. Mission site is locked down from the inside. Estimate multiple prisoners."

"Are they compromised?"

"...Very."

"Dust it," Shanghai ordered, "-you have trouble inbound by helicopter, ETA fifteen minutes.

"Copy that, Wolverine out," Logan slipped the radio back into the pouch on his belt, and snapped it shut. Shouldering his pack, he walked back into the parking garage. Creed was taking pictures of the captured bio-weapon containers, some of them broken open during the truck's attempted escape, and a few of the driver with the perfect bullet hole through his ear, just because. Afterwards he got out a vial, scooped up some of the eggshell-white powder leaking out on the floor, and capped it. Logan started setting charges, both C-4 on the truck itself, and a large, boxy-looking device in the elevator shaft. He closed the door behind him, after setting that one. Kyle wiped his face off with his sleeve, and stayed as far away from the truck and the strange white powder as he could. It made his nose itch, and knowing what it WAS gave Kyle a serious case of the creeps. If he was anyone else...

The alarm that had been going off since the firefight in the factory room shut off abruptly. Logan and Creed exchanged glances.

"That means run, right?" Kyle guessed.

Logan nodded.

* * *

They were very far back from the compound. Further, Kyle thought, than they probably needed to be. Logan pulled the C-4 detonator out of his pocket, and, keyed it. There was a medium-sized explosion, and the complex rocked as if hit by an earthquake. Then nothing.

"That's it?" Kyle asked, puzzled.

"Patience," Logan checked his watch.

Creed folded his arms, and watched the compound. The shipment twelve truck had blown with the C-4 charges, and a cloud of white dust hung over the parking garage entrance ominously.

"Don't try and hold your breath," Logan warned Kyle.

"Wh-"

Just then, the top of the facility exploded like a champagne cork, and then the thick concrete walls cracked and blew apart outwards. The noise was incredible. Reaching the height of the reaction, the fireball that had once been the compound sucked the air and most of the dust cloud back into itself, and exploded into black soot and orange flame for a second time.

Kyle coughed a few times, and tried to get some air back into his lungs. It was at least half a minute before the air pressure rose enough that he could do it. Logan passed Creed a cigar, and lit one himself. The lighter sputtered on his first two tries, and then caught.

"What- was-" Kyle managed.

"Fuel-air bomb," Logan told him, "-they work real good on biotech."

"Want one?" Creed asked, indicating the cigars.

"I don't smoke," Kyle told him, smiling lopsidedly.

Creed lit up, eyeing Kyle with concern.

"What kind o' granola-eatin'-" he began, reasonably.

"The cavalry's gonna start showin' up soon," Logan reminded them, "-so unless one o' you has got a marshmallow...?"

"Ninja, vanish," agreed Kyle, shouldering his pack.

Logan puffed his cigar thoughtfully.

"NO!" Creed barked, seeing Logan's expression, "-WE ARE NOT GOIN' TA #!&! JAPAN!"

-


	4. Over the Line

Title: How's it Gonna Be?

Chapter 4: Over the Line

Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth

Rating: NC-17/R

Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.

Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured.

Summary: Across the border in Russian territory, anything goes.

* * *

Two days later, Team X had made a clean getaway deeper into the Northwest-Southeast mountain range that made up Georgia's Northern border with Russia. Creed thought disappearing into 'friendly' Russian territory was hilarious. They followed a river, and it's steep, rocky banks cut sharply into the bottom of a long, shallow valley. The trees thinned out a little higher up, as the terrain became high desert country. Sharp, treacherous thorns waited for the unwary in every rock-crack and patch of underbrush.

"This looks about right," Creed decided, looking out over the valley and setting his pack down at his feet. "You wanna do the honors? -No, wait... I got somethin' better," he grinned, digging around in a side pocket. He came up with two grenades, passed them to Kyle saying, "-hold these," ...and then pulled the pins.

Kyle almost dropped them. He looked up at his father incredulously for a brief moment, then lobbed both grenades as hard as he could down into a nearby ravine, and hit the deck.

The grenades went off. A cloud of dirt and dust blasted up into the air, and rained down on them a moment later.

Wolverine took off his boonie hat, hit it across his knee a few times to get the dust off, and put it back on.

"See?" said Creed, happily.

"What was that all about?" Kyle asked, brushing himself off testily.

"Intelligence test," said Logan, "-ya passed."

"Cute, huh? I also tie my shoes and come in out of the rain," Kyle snapped. -He really didn't like grenades.

"Now we wait and see if anybody comes to check out the hole," Logan explained, "-if they don't, we're clear to exfil."

"Oh," -that made sense. Logan could be very annoying when he made sense. Kyle remembered this now.

* * *

The next day the crater was still undisturbed, so they crossed the border into Russia.

"Ranger TV. I like it," Kyle poked the fire with a short stick, and watched orange sparks rise on a breath of hot smoke.

"It's mostly re-runs," Logan smiled, "-you know how to play poker?" He held up a battered deck.

"Sure," said Kyle, "-Puck taught me."

"Deal me in," said Creed.

Logan raised an eyebrow, and tried to remember which of them was better at this. He dealt the first hand.

Creed was good, Logan was just a wood-shaving better, and Kyle was way, way out of his depth.

It wasn't until half an hour later that Kyle realized BOTH of the others were cheating.

Well... not cheating, exactly, but listening to each others' heartbeat and breathing to tell who was lying. Kyle realized that he made a nearly-inaudible sniff when he had a hand he thought would win, and carefully stopped doing it. He won a few hands.

"He's onto us," Logan observed.

"Yup," Creed agreed, "-gimmie two."

The game continued.

Kyle still lost most of the time, but at least he was IN the game now.

He would practice this.

* * *

Creed paused, listening.

"What?" Logan asked, shuffling the casualties of the night's game back into a pack.

"Kid's asleep."

"You sure?" Logan considered the blonde-tipped lump in Kyle's sleeping bag.

"Yeah, no thanks to you. You know he's gonna clean Puck's clock next time he sees him, right?"

"I'd pay real money to see that match," Logan nodded, smugly.

"How long do we got until Fury shows up?"

"He won't."

"You took us AWOL?" Creed was impressed.

"No. When I asked for an assignment in Africa, Fury knew I didn't want to come back for a while. Our next mission's in Groznyy."

Creed was silent. Logan looked at him sidelong.

"You got somethin' better to do?" Logan challenged.

"Nothin' that can't wait. You?" Creed replied.

Pause.

"This op's waited long enough," Logan told him, simply.

"No kiddin'. C'mere," Sabretooth held out a hand to him.

Logan didn't take it, though he did notice Creed's scent, which-

"Have it your way," Creed grumbled, turning.

"Wait."

Creed stopped and gave Logan a calculating look over his shoulder.

"-You don't TAKE no for an answer," said Logan, suspiciously, "-what gives?"

"Can't I just have a change o' heart?"

"Not without a scalpel," Logan snorted.

"Now yer thinkin'," Creed agreed, with a slow, devious smile.

"Puzzles. Always more damn puzzles. Why don't ya figure THIS one out?" Logan took out his Zippo, lit it, and watched Creed over the flame. Then he set the lighter on it's side, on the open palm of his right hand. The flame licked the base of his thumb, but he ignored it. This was a dare, and an old one. Creed stood, closed his fingers then opened them, and reached over the lighter in Logan's hand. His palm came down fast, sealing the lighter between their two hands, and snuffing out the flame. The metal was still hot, and it hurt. Neither one moved. Creed felt the skin of his palm along the lighter's hot wind-guard crack and bleed a few drops before it sealed again. The lighter was cooling to body-temperature now. Creed turned Logan's hand over without letting go of it, and licked the thin trail of blood off of the underside of Logan's wrist. It tasted like both of them. He could feel the bones beneath the skin against his tongue, subtly different from those of any Human.

Logan opened his hand, and the lighter fell. He let it. Creed followed the blood trail onto Logan's palm, and licked that clean too. Creed's hand left a dark red print on the sleeve of Logan's jacket. One of the tufts of Logan's hair brushed under Creed's chin, and he turned his face down towards the touch.

With that breath, Creed was home.

"Time to go," Logan's quiet order sounded muffled against the front of Creed's shirt.

"Yeah."

* * *

It was a race. It hadn't started out that way, but first they were walking, and then pacing each other quickly, and then running flat-out, side by side. Creed had a longer stride, but Logan's shorter height and agility gave him the advantage with brush and trees. Downhill, and on, and on towards they knew not what. Logan was falling before he knew he'd reached the edge, and Creed swiped at Logan's jacket with his claws, half-missed, and fell after him.

At the bottom of the cliff was water, a clear, black mirror. They broke it.

Creed found Logan underwater, and pulled him close. Logan popped claws, and shredded the entire front of Creed's shirt. It drifted down into the dark, leaving a few strips tucked into the back of Creed's pants. Logan rubbed his face against Creed's chest hard, half expecting him not to really be there. His skin was warm though, sharply so against the cool of the water, and Logan could feel Creed's heartbeat, wild and fast and unmistakable. He felt Creed's talons against his back, and then his jacket and shirt ripped in half from the collar downwards. Cold. Cold water and warm skin against his, warm arms curled tightly around him.

Air.

Breaking the surface, they were in the start of the shallows now. Creed was standing, and Logan wasn't, and Creed seemed pleased with this. Logan lay into him, knocking them both over underwater again. Creed fought his way past the claws, got in a really good punch, and gained a hold on Logan's upper arm with one hand. He couldn't keep him for long like that, but it was a sufficient handle to be able to toss Logan up onto the sandy clay of the shore. Wolverine landed like a cat, toes of his boots digging long grooves into the hard mud. He looked back at Sabretooth, breathing fast, claws up.

Sabretooth walked up out of the pool deliberately, water streaming from his long hair and sodden clothes, a pair of thin, curved leaves beached on his shoulder like seaweed. He was a monster, and he was magnificent. Logan didn't move.

Creed closed the distance purposefully, and stopped within a hand's breadth of Logan.

Logan's eyes under wet eyebrows were dark and feral, catching glints of the light reflected from the water. He knew Sabretooth. Knew Creed. Knew him.

Logan sheathed his claws with a wet 'schlikt'.

Creed took Logan's head in both hands, and kissed him on the mouth, hard. Logan kissed him back, with a low, possessive growl.

Creed ran one set of claws down Logan's side, feeling light teddy-bear fuzz, and closed his other hand over a tightly muscled shoulder. This was how it should feel, this was how it should taste. Humans were like 'The Doors' "soft, mad children", fragile and naked under the moon. THIS was real.

This was HIS.

The rest of the clothes didn't last long.

Creed found himself on his back, a little surprised by this, with Logan sitting on him. He was further forward than Creed would have liked him to be, but the scent, and the weight of him was wonderful. Logan leaned down carefully, and sniffed one of Creed's sideburns. It made him think of pine boards.

Creed had memories hidden all over him.

Logan nipped Creed under the ear, and licked the spot a moment later. He moved down Creed's neck in this way, finding the cords and hollows, and ticklish spots, always moving downwards. He stopped at the notch of Creed's collarbone, and spent a lot of time there. He guessed -or was it remembered?- right. Creed was just this side of purring, running his big, clawed hands over Logan's back, chest, legs, and whatever else he could reach, stroking him approvingly. Logan hadn't been with someone who could reach that FAR in a long time, and being stroked felt really, really good.

Without warning, Creed took hold of Logan's hips, and moved him forward to within reach. His intent was obvious.

"Teeth?" Logan warned, skeptically.

Creed licked him, a warm, sure stroke that promised a truly frightening degree of experience.

"Trust me," Creed licked him again, and Logan whimpered, just on the edge of subsonic.

"-Besides, you know this grows back..." Creed added, evilly.

Logan froze, and glared down at his sadistic mate.

Creed moved in for the kill, effectively shutting up both Logan and himself. ...For a while, anyway...

* * *

As the echoes died, Logan wiped his hair out of his eyes. It had been too short for that an hour ago. His hair grew like this sometimes, especially during intense battles and when he was healing. Keeping it within regs had been hell during WWII.

"Ya fluffed," Sabretooth grinned, ruffling Logan's hair with one hand. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Ahh..." Logan collected his thoughts.

"Heh heh..."

"You've done that before. To me."

"Ya -think-?" Sabretooth agreed, sarcastically.

"You were tellin' the truth," Logan continued.

"You went inta this without bein' sure?"

"I knew what I felt. That's enough," Logan asserted.

"Huh," Creed stroked the side of Logan's face with the backs of two fingers, "-right."

"Hey," Logan bristled, "-I'm not done with you yet..."

"What's th' plan?" Sabretooth asked, happily.

Logan put a hand over Creed's mouth. "Sit tight. Lemmie see of I can remember how this goes."

-Creed's claws twitched.

/God, if ya wake me up now, I -swear- I'll find out where ya live.../

* * *

Creed tasted like darkness. There was no other word for it. Everything secret, everything that made you close your eyes and hold your breath. Sharp salt heat rose in Logan's blood, and his thoughts focused into a thin, bright line.

What would it take to break a man like Creed? Academically, of course...

Creed moved too much. That was rude. Logan pinned Creed's hips to the ground with a forearm across his stomach. Creed was trying to help. Logan could feel it in the tremor of the long, flat muscles under his arm. Creed never had been very good with control.

Logan paused in his attentions, and bit just inside Creed's hipbone, along the joint.

A choked shout rewarded him. At this point, there wasn't much telling between pain and pleasure, just intensity. This edge was always brittle the first time.

Logan felt fingers closing in his hair, and snatched Creed's hand back by the wrist, pinning it against the wet ground beside them. He tasted Creed again, and this time he didn't let up.

Creed roared as he lost control, shoulders arching off the ground, his free arm thudding a fist against the dark clay at his side. Half sitting up he froze, trembling. He could smell Logan's blood, and himself. He couldn't think how he'd gotten Logan, but it was probably healing already.

He couldn't think at all, for a minute or two.

Relief, soft as warm motor oil, soaked down through his limbs. Creed uncurled his fingers carefully. One of Logan's claws appeared through the mess of wet blonde hair that had fallen forward covering Creed's face, and lifted a portion of it aside.

"You alive?" Logan didn't -quite- smirk.

"Shut up," Creed muttered.

Logan leaned forward the rest of the way, and kissed him.

A lukewarm trickle of sweat slipped down through the edge of Creed's hair, and ran down the side of his face, losing itself in a sideburn.

Creed felt the point of a sharp tooth brush along his bottom lip. A firm, muddy hand on the back of his neck dropped a thin shower of dirt-crumbs between his shoulders. Pressure and softness, and the flicker of Logan's tongue finding his.

The runt could kiss.

And the taste... Creed pulled Logan back up against his chest, and purred into the kiss, arms tightening around Logan's back a little -too- fiercely.

/No way in HELL, bub.../

Logan bit Creed's lip, and tried to get loose. He had nearly managed it, when Creed let go with both hands, and put him in a wrestling choke-hold.

Claws.

Okay, new plan. Creed pushed Logan down and forward, driving the front of Logan's shoulder into the ground with a back-punch, and winding up his left arm behind his back. Getting out of this would require dislocating an arm. Logan growled back at him murderously, and looked like he was about to do just that, and then repay him in kind. Creed bit the back and side of Logan's neck, a deep bite that avoided all the major veins, but gave him a good handle.

Wolverine screamed in rage, dislocated his left arm, and brought his right elbow up and back against Sabretooth's cheekbone with a sudden shattering crack.

Creed didn't let go. He rose to one knee slowly, holding Logan in front of and against him tightly. There was a slight sand-papery noise as the bones of his face started to pull back into shape. Logan hit him again, low this time, breaking two ribs cleanly.

Creed shook him once, sharply.

Logan stopped moving, breathing hard. There was a red edge creeping into his vision around the sides, and he didn't think it had anything to do with a physical injury. He could either attack with his legs to get a better angle for a claw-strike, or- -Creed let go of his hold on Logan's neck, and blew across the tooth marks as they healed.

So.

"Don't. Do that. Again," Logan hissed. Creed rested his chin on Logan's shoulder silently, hands on Logan's chest no longer restraining him. The moment was broken by a series of wet clicks from Logan's shoulder as it went back into place.

"You wanna try this over?" Creed asked.

Wolverine thought about it.

"...Okay," he agreed, warily.

* * *

Creed let him go. Logan stood and dusted himself off. He didn't know whether to be more angry at Creed for being unable to take a hint, or at himself for flying off the handle. That had felt dangerously like panic, and this was only Sabretooth, after all.

The bite on his neck itched as it finished healing, and Logan rubbed the spot absently.

The damage to Creed's cheekbone had healed into a dark red bruise, which faded as Logan watched. Creed was still crouched on the ground, and he didn't look half bad at a down-angle. Logan traced the shapes of Creed's face with his fingers, avoiding the remains of the bruise. This face was Human, but not, just like the man behind it. He smelled good, like mud, and sex, and the water of the pool. Natural. Logan placed a kiss at the corner of Creed's eye. The eye didn't close, but it flicked to pure yellow-white for a moment. Cats' eyes did that, Logan recalled.

He felt hands along his legs, exploring, stroking. Creed had found something novel about this angle too. Logan put an arm around Creed's neck, and started licking him behind the ear. Creed tilted his head to the side to give Logan better access, and purred low in his chest. This wasn't bad. Having Logan's ass in hand, literally, wasn't bad either. Logan had gotten wise to this. He hadn't said anything, though. Creed took one hand away, and rubbed Logan's side with it.

"Hmmm," Logan smiled against his ear.

Having Logan's hand in his hair was nice. He knew what felt good, and where to use his fingernails. But where'd his other h-

"H-ah- -!" Creed choked, surprised. -Being suddenly 'taken in hand' will do that.

"Nice."

"What're you gonna do about it?" Creed asked, speculatively.

"That depends if you can keep yer claws ta yourself. Can ya?"

"Yeah," Sabretooth agreed, without absolutely no thought whatsoever.

"Good," Logan squeezed, just enough to emphasize his words without actually becoming painful, "-'Cause I don't LIKE bein' held down or havin' my nose shoved in the dirt, and I'm kinda partial to the number o' holes I -got-. ...Get me?"

"I know what you want," Creed said, knowingly.

"Do you?"

"You been ridin' me all night. Why break a habit?"

"Fair enough," Logan agreed.

Creed grabbed Logan's arm, and rolled back against the ground, taking Logan with him. Peeling his face off of Creed's chest, Logan nipped him. Was Creed just this unchangeable, or was there something he was supposed to do at this point? Something discipline-related perhaps?

Logan couldn't remember.

Creed was using his claws, but he was just running them down Logan's back, leaving trails of nerves that felt like lit neon. Even the wind felt like a touch there now. Logan tried that with his fingernails on Creed's chest. It worked, but not as well.

Wait... oh, yeah. He remembered now.

-SHLIKT-.

Creed jumped, and stared at Logan's hands. Logan pressed the backs of his claws against Creed's forehead. Creed lay his head down, closing his eyes. The claws crossed against Creed's chest next, then brushed the inside of his arms. Creed's eyes were still closed. He couldn't take this for long, and if Logan remembered-

Logan's claws punched into the ground a hairsbreadth from Creed's ear.

Oh, SHIT. He did remember. Creed turned his head, and licked the inside of Logan's wrist, eyeing the place where the claws met soil.

"Mrrrurrrr..." there was too much of a plea in Logan's voice for it to be a growl, but it sure wasn't a word. Creed knew that noise, and he chuckled. Logan started licking the base of Creed's collarbone purposefully, just to shut him up. Creed arched against him, starting to tremble. The effort it took not to grab Logan and plow into him was getting really, REALLY painful.

/DO IT!

I can't...

LIKE HELL!

He's got a set of claws free-

I'LL HEAL...

He said ta-

HE'S A WUSS!

But-

I AM this CLOSE...

I've waited too long. No.

DO-IT-ANYWAY!

NO!

YES!

NO!

HE'S YOURS!

YES!

SO DO IT!

NO!

YES!

NO!/

"Do it," Creed whispered. Logan pushed himself back onto Creed, and it wasn't gentle, but DAMN it was familiar. Both of them screamed. The air seemed thinner. Logan took a few gasping breaths, and yanked his claws out of the ground by Creed's head. He braced his hands on Creed's chest, and remembered.

It was a room. He was leaving for the Terry Adams mission in the morning, and Creed had been asking him something. Something important. Hands on his face, and the taste of Sabretooth's warm mouth. ...And this feeling. Crazy things to remember. Light from a street lamp outside. Folding up a leather belt, 'case Wraith was gonna kill 'em if-

/-Inside me. Feels like now, almost. He's warm. So warm, and-/

Wolverine sighed, slow and deep, and felt Creed's hand touching his face, then stroking down the back of his neck. He was back in the forest by the pool.

Creed growled, talons indenting the skin of Logan's hip. He felt the hard scrape of claw points against his chest, and wondered what it would take to get Logan to slip up and cut him.

/Time ta find out./

It was a long while before the forest was quiet again.

* * *

Sabretooth woke to a warm dead weight, and Logan's scent right under his nose. He smiled slowly, and sniffed the top of Logan's hair. The mid-afternoon sun cast a reflected pattern from the water of the pool onto the cliff face overhanging it.

Creed had no further demands on the world right then.

Logan lifted his head up to look at Creed thoughtfully for a moment, then snuggled back down. He'd already been awake.

"Hm."

"Have a nice nap?" Creed asked.

Logan stretched unhurriedly, and nipped the side of Creed's jaw.

"Any filthy dreams?"

"...Don't think I dreamed at all," Logan decided, after a moment's thought.

Creed smiled, and said nothing.

"-How'd you know?" Logan asked.

"I'm thirsty," Creed decided, standing up. Logan had a split-second to realize he was airborne before he hit the water with a tremendous splash. He came up swearing a blue streak, and swam back to the shore. Creed watched him, arms folded, naked and unrepentant.

"Thirsty, huh? I'll show you #&! 'thirsty'..." Logan stomped up the bank, dripping, and dragged Creed down into the water.

* * *

Kyle looked up, licking his fingers. The others were coming back, he could hear their voices through the trees. He'd caught a rabbit some time before, and it was open on the rocks in front of him, half eaten. Normally he'd be hiding the evidence, but Kyle knew Logan wouldn't give him shit about not cooking it, and he figured his father wouldn't either.

He'd heard a lot last night. Though it had come from pretty far away, Kyle had known mountain lions to make less noise, and it had made him miss Aurora something fierce.

Was this what the other two had come out here for? Were they going back now? Kyle hoped not. He didn't want to go. He wanted to run with the pack.

/Stop it/ Kyle told himself, sharply, /-you're not a goddamn wolf, and neither are they./

But still...

Logan came into view first, then Creed. Their clothes, what was left of them anyway, were shredded. An argument was going on, but Kyle noticed more the way they moved, like a matched pair of hunting dogs. This was no accidental love.

Kyle looked down at the carcass of the rabbit, and felt very, very unnecessary.

"Hey, Kyle! Get bored?" Creed dropped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning.

"Little bit," Kyle shrugged, through a mouthful of rabbit meat. Creed scooped one of the rabbit's eyes out with his thumbnail, and ate it. "-D'ya mind?" Kyle growled, before he could really think about it.

There was a momentary pause.

"Aww, he found 'is claws," Creed laughed, and left Kyle to his kill. Kyle breathed a shaky sigh of relief. What the -hell- had he been -not- thinking?

Then again...

Kyle was confused. He knew how to be alone, and he knew how to be part of a group, but telling off SABRETOOTH and getting away with it (maybe)? What did that make him now? He knew how he felt around Logan, but his father's high-octane personality was something else. Creed undoubtedly liked him, but... Was he a part of this group at all, or had he just been used as a catalyst?

* * *

Logan, having changed into a fresh pair of pants and a non-regulation looking black a-line, came over and sat down near Kyle. His boonie hat rested low around his eyes, cutting off the setting sun.

"You up for another mission?" Logan asked.

"'Course. Where're we going?" Kyle asked, brightly.

"Don't know yet. We get the details when we get ta Groznyy. By then the bug from the factory'll be dead on our gear, too."

"It can't just live in us, but not make us sick?" Kyle asked.

"Not a chance," Logan assured him.

"Right."

The sun set, and Kyle finished the rabbit.

"Before we go to Groznyy, there's somethin' you should know," Logan began, "-I've been thinkin', but... there's no right time ta hear it, so I'm just gonna say it. Fair enough?"

"Uh, yeah..." Kyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand self-consciously.

"It's about the past. The Weapon X project. I only got Creed's word on this, but there's not a whole lotta solid truth left in the world, so go with it, okay?"

Kyle nodded, and Logan continued.

"The project didn't always start with adults. You... you're somethin' wrong that went very right. You're the project's idea of a next-gen super soldier based on Creed an' me. So... you don't really have a mom by blood. That's also why ya got 'Weapon Omega' as one of your code-names. Department H an' the project seem ta use the same kind o' names."

"So- wait- how did I get to the ranger station?" asked Kyle, sounding lost.

"Ranger station?" Logan echoed, blankly.

"Somebody left me at a ranger station when I was a baby," Kyle admitted.

"That fits..." Logan muttered.

"What?"

"Well, why d'ya think you didn't grow up in a lab? I took you out o' there."

"Why didn't you keep me?" Kyle demanded.

"I've thought about that a lot," Logan sighed, "-I was feral at the time... It had to be either knowin' I was about to be re-captured, or food. Kids that little don't eat meat."

/Or blood, for that matter.../

Kyle couldn't breathe.

"How long have you known?" he managed. /Was THAT why he trained me?/

"Last week," Logan told him.

Kyle thought about that. It shouldn't matter to him so much where he came from, since he was already an adult... But it did.

"Does this mean that you're my dad too?" Kyle asked anyway.

"I'd say it does."

"Good."

They looked at each other for a long moment, silent. Then Kyle curled onto his back, and looked up at Wolverine upside-down, searchingly. Fortunately, Logan understood wolf-speak pretty well. He reached down with a smile, and scratched Kyle around the ears.

Omega accepted.

* * *

For a major city, Groznyy sucked. It was a concrete and brick jumble mixed up with bombed-out portions and narrow streets. Here and there the ghost of an older, more civilized building could be seen. Team X waited until nightfall before leaving the shadows of a ruin on the outskirts of town. Logan had an address, but it was near the city center. Most streets were empty after dark, but looking down one, Kyle saw a few colorful shops still open and an improbable 1950's style diner. He blinked. A poster on a brick wall just ahead caught Kyle's eye. It was an old WW2-era 'Let's go... Canada!' recruiting poster, somehow looking like it had been taped up there yesterday.

"Bad, bad juju," muttered Kyle, "-and why is there a 'Danny Street' in the middle of a Russian city?"

"What was that?" Creed asked, materializing at Kyle's elbow.

"Um-" Kyle looked back up the street, and found it to be a completely different one than had been there a moment ago. A tattered sheet of newspaper blew in between dark storefronts that hadn't seen glass in months, and the name of the street was now in Russian. "-Nothin'," Kyle told him.

...It had been there, hadn't it?

Several blocks later, Logan held up a hand and flattened himself against a nearby building. A jeep drove past, headlights cutting through the night like white lasers. Then silence. Kyle didn't think they'd been seen. Logan motioned forward again. The building Logan finally stopped beside wasn't really a building at all, but the old stonework overhang above an out-of-order public wall-fountain.

"What is it?" Creed asked.

"This is the place." Logan checked the map again. "See if you can find a side door or something." They looked. Nothing. Just then, the fountain's basin filled up with two or three gallons of water, stirring the dirt at the bottom. Creed's eyes flicked around the deserted square quickly. They weren't alone.

"Get ready..." Logan whispered.

* * *

Across the square, a door opened, and then nothing.

Creed walked over to it, and peered inside. It was pitch black, but his eyes could still discern a Human-looking shape across the room, training a gun on him coolly. Creed ducked back out, and sniffed a few times.

"Maverick," Logan said, beside him.

"Maverick, " Sabretooth agreed, "-wonder who he's workin' for this week?"

"Get in here before somebody sees you," Maverick hissed, from inside.

Maverick led them into an empty store-room, and then down through a trapdoor and some stairs into a cellar with a lit coal furnace in one corner. Kyle brought up the rear, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger under his half-helmet and polarized face-visor. He -looked- Human...

Maverick stopped by the furnace, and waited until Kyle had closed the trapdoor behind him, and they were all assembled at floor level.

"Pardon my asking, but what the hell are you two doing here?" Maverick demanded.

"You workin' for the old eagle?" Logan asked, meaning Col. Fury.

"Yes. Been in Georgia lately?"

"Yeah. Logan took out a sealed metal canister, housing the film and sample from the bio-weapon's lab mission. "I brought you a present, but I wouldn't open it 'till you get home," Logan cautioned, handing Maverick the metal cylinder.

"Copy that," Maverick agreed, "-I got something for you too, but first, who's that?"

"Me?" said Kyle.

"Maverick, this is Wildchild. Wildchild, Maverick's an old friend o' ours," Logan explained.

Kyle came forward into the light of the furnace window, and Maverick did a double take before shaking his hand.

"Jesus..." Maverick peered into Kyle's face, finally switching on a lamp on the side of his helmet to get a better look. Kyle winced at the light, and his eyes turned yellow-white, inner eyelids protecting them against the sudden brightness.

"That's enough," Creed growled, warningly.

"Sorry, Wildchild," Maverick said, switching the lamp off, "-I just didn't know they made them like you anymore."

"They don't," Kyle told him, angrily, "-now what's this package you have for us?"

Maverick paused, looking from Sabretooth to Wolverine, and back to the newcomer, then nodded once.

"It's not a what. It's a who," Maverick knocked lightly on the side of the furnace with the butt of his rifle. The door of the furnace opened cautiously, and a teenage girl with light gray skin emerged, clad in a shirt and skirt of fire-darkened chain mail. Her hair was shoulder-length and jet black, flipped up at the lower edge. Her eyes were her most striking feature however, twin magma-pools of soft red flame that glowed in the dimness of the cellar, even with the open furnace door behind her.

"Meet Mira Silviana, otherwise known as the Red Spark. She's applied for political asylum in the US of A, and getting her there is now our problem," Maverick explained.

* * *

"Great," Creed muttered, "-anybody got a hotdog?"

"Does she talk?" Kyle asked.

"What's her story?" Logan asked.

"Okay, okay..." Maverick handed Logan an envelope from his hip pocket. "Yes, she speaks, but she only understands Russian and Czech. What you need to know about her background, is that she's a mutant with very limited control of her powers. She's only been like this for two years. Her skin temperature usually stays around four hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and she only drinks combustible oils. Kerosene, high-octane gas, lighter fluid, anything like that. The good news is that her temperature can only rise about thirty degrees from where it is, and that's her only known mutant power. She's impervious to anything from five hundred degrees Fahrenheit to well below freezing. Aside from that, she's a normal kid."

"So what's the problem?" Logan asked, "-why hasn't anyone else gotten her out?"

"Look man, I don't know," Maverick snapped, "-maybe somebody's looking out for her on infa-red. -I had instructions to keep her below ground until my contacts showed up."

"Huh..." Logan glanced over at Mira, thinking. Kyle was trying to talk to her in very polite English, and Mira was sounding confused in Russian, but they seemed to be getting along okay. Creed found a pair of heavy, leather-lined asbestos gloves on the floor, which he tucked into his belt.

Logan came over to Kyle and Mira.

"Hi. I'm Wolverine. I understand you wanna get out of here?" Logan asked, in Russian.

"They'll let me go?" Mira asked.

"Wait, do you know what's happening? Did you really apply for political asylum in the US?"

"No," Mira shook her head, "-you are Americans?"

"Canadian actually," Logan looked over his shoulder at Maverick warily, then back to Mira, "-why do you think you're down here?"

"I'm hiding from the Russian police. They're always chasing me. My parents were helping me stay hidden, but they were thrown out two months ago. Turkish passports, you see. I think that's shit. The Russian government just wants an excuse to make me a ward of the state. Can you really get me out of here?"

"Yes," Logan told her, "-it's why we're here."

"Why should I trust you?" Mira asked.

"Why'd you trust him?" Logan pointed over at Maverick.

"I had no choice. I can't go up to the surface. Besides, I could have run away at any time he stepped out, and he took that chance."

/Yeah, right/ thought Logan. /Maverick just does that to see if his targets move. He probably had the cellar door in his cross-hairs the whole time./

Logan took off his right glove, and put his hand over hers for a moment. He showed Mira the resulting blister, and let her watch as it healed within seconds. Her glowing eyes widened for a moment, and it occurred to Kyle that she might not have met another mutant before.

"Where are you trying get to, girl? Turkey?" Logan asked.

"Not so fast," Creed Interrupted, in English. He'd stolen the envelope out of Logan's pocket, and was reading the contents. "Cinderella's been busy. Says here she's wanted for twenty two murders."

"What's he saying?" Mira asked.

"Another reason the police might be chasing you," Logan told her.

"WHAT? No, no, that's lies! They say that so they can catch me!" Mira protested.

"Maverick, where'd you get this file?" Logan asked.

"That's straight from the old eagle," Maverick told him, unhappily.

Logan swore under his breath. Laying hands on a large amount of burnable fuel in a war-torn city like this one was bound to be tough for an undisguiseable mutant on the run, but twenty two kills was a lot for someone who couldn't hold a gun without cooking off the ammo. They'd just landed prisoner escort duty. Taking the envelope and papers from Creed, Logan went over and sat on the foot of the stairs to read it himself.

Maverick said some choice words about the phrase, 'need to know', and stomped upstairs past Logan to see if the store room and the building above were still clear.

Creed put the asbestos gloves on, and watched Mira dispassionately.

Mira sat down on the doorjamb of the furnace, and cried drops of fire that winked out like fireflies as they hit the dusty floor.

Kyle found a dark corner and stayed there, thinking.

* * *

In the end, Wolverine decided not to rely on a refrigeration system or heat-shielding, but rather to conceal Mira's heat signature against the heat of a running engine block. This was easier said than done, even with Maverick helping. A car was too small for under-hood space or ground clearance, and a truck was too dangerous because of the spinning drive shaft underneath, and the possibility that someone would look at the chassis for bombs or contraband at a border checkpoint. The solution was found in the form of a bus, an old German tank of a vehicle with peeling blue paint and a rear-mounted diesel engine that made the last row of seats shake. It wouldn't be fun, but Mira could hide in the air-insulation space between the engine and the wall that separated the engine compartment from the back of the bus's passenger compartment.

The question remained though, did she really want to leave at all?

The nearness of the engine's moving parts seemed to scare her, as did the company of men who all carried guns, and healed from any damage she could inflict within minutes. If her file was anywhere near correct, Mira was used to the company of people she could simply burn her way through if they became a problem. Logan put in a grille between the air space where Mira would be and the engine so that she wouldn't actually be hurt by it, but the look in Mira's eyes when she looked at the compartment reminded him of Storm's claustrophobic reaction to stopped elevators. -Not surprising, since the kid had been forced to hide in furnaces.

* * *

Kyle hated every part of this.

At night it was the worst, when he had time to think.

He remembered all too well the crimes in his own past, and he remembered better still the way the government hunted him down, then pardoned him without conscience when it decided it could use him in a super team. What would happen to Mira, and which would really be worse? Had Mira really chosen to kill when she had a choice, hating the people who could walk outside unnoticed, who could touch their families, who could sleep under a blanket without having it catch fire?

Had she embraced her change unthinkingly, GLAD for the chance to kill?

Or was she simply afraid, terrified of her pursuers to the point that when she lashed out at them like a normal teenage girl, her mutant power killed unintentionally?

Kyle remembered. He remembered the needles, and the promises, and the way a nightstick felt when the person hitting you got the same spot twice. He remembered sweating in the dark one night, watching the skin of his arm ripple between the way he was naturally and the way they were trying to make him, genetic retrovirus fighting his half-dampened healing factor for control of his body, trying to make him into someone else.

He thought he'd wanted that, once...

Kyle clenched his fist at his side, long sturdy claw-nails biting into the skin of his palm. Even if he clipped them short like Logan's, those nails would never be Human. He was what he was.

-At least he knew why, now.

Knowing what he was SUPPOSED to look like was actually a relief. Sabretooth was known, accepted in some circles, and feared by many powerful people. Aside from being under six feet tall and having straighter hair, Kyle was a dead ringer for Creed. He was supposed to have these claws. He was supposed to smell people long before he saw them. He was supposed to want to kill things that ran by him fast.

And Wolverine...

Kyle didn't really know how to feel about that part. He'd sometimes hated, and sometimes idolized the man. Wolverine was what people publicly said he should act like, and Sabretooth was what they expected him to do for them once the cameras were off. Kyle liked Logan, but the X-Man always carried with him a feeling of untouchability. He cared... kind of.

With the revelations of the past few weeks, Kyle now had a claim from Wolverine, something he'd always kinda wanted, but apparently had all along. Kyle seriously doubted that the claim would hold up indefinitely- -after all what did- -but he had it for now, and he held it in his mind like Captain America's shield.

He might be Wolverine's son. And Wolverine was okay with that.

The wolf in Kyle's puppy-dream smelled like Logan. Kyle had ALWAYS had that dream. He used to think that it meant he was a wolf-mutant who just happened to look like a Human. Was he actually remembering escaping from the Weapon X lab with Wolverine? Whiskers and sideburns would feel about the same in the dark, wouldn't they?

Kyle turned over in his sleeping bag, and looked at the rest of the room. It was nearly dark. Gear was everywhere, but the only occupied sleeping bag was Logan's. Creed was guarding Mira downstairs, and Maverick was watching for trouble from the upstairs front window. In a few hours, it would be his turn to watch from the window, Logan's turn to guard Mira, and Maverick and Creed's turn to sleep.

* * *

Kyle couldn't sleep.

He'd chosen a spot as far away from Logan as he could get before rolling out his sleeping bag on the store room floor. Acting like a pup when he was awake was one thing, but he had a bad habit of waking up using his bedmate for a teddy bear, and he didn't think that would go over well with Wolverine.

Or Creed. Yeah. Especially Creed.

This whole situation was fucked up royally.

Aurora hadn't minded the teddy-bear thing...

/Oh, stop it! You know you don't deserve a woman as beautiful as that. All things considered, you're probably gay anyway.

...No. No, actually I'm not./ Kyle decided, answering his own thought. /But me an' Jean-Marie... how would that ever have worked? She never even noticed me until I changed over to looking human. Now I look like- -no. ...Why should she bother?/

"Got a lot on yer mind?" Logan asked. Kyle jumped what felt like a foot.

"What? Why?"

"You woke me up."

"Sorry," Kyle said, quickly.

"Look, just... what's eatin' you, kid?" Logan asked, reasonably.

"A lot of stuff," Kyle evaded.

"Start talkin', or go to sleep. Pick one."

"I can't sleep..."

"Well that narrows it down now, don't it?"

"Look, we're behind enemy lines, getting ready to steal a Mutant we DON'T really know, With a guy I've never met, and I just remembered I never actually quit Alpha Flight."

"Do you wanna go back?" Logan asked.

"...Not really."

"There's plenty o' ways to quit, Kyle."

"Yeah, but if I tried to slice somebody's tie off with my claws it'd probably snag, and I'd end up breaking his neck by accident or something..." Kyle trailed off. "God's got that kind of sense of humor."

"You pray?"

"I used to."

"Did it work?"

"Not when I said 'God', but Snowbird answered me once," Kyle replied.

"Really? Annie... now there was a class act." Logan reflected, leaning on an elbow.

"Is Storm a goddess like Snowbird?" Kyle asked.

"She should be," Logan said, noncommittally, "-the whole God thing's kind o' relative. I mean, if settin' a bush on fire impresses people..." he left it at that.

"So you're an atheist?"

"Well... if I ever met the man, I wouldn't refuse 'im a beer, but until then..." Logan shrugged, "-prayin' to Snowbird... where'd ya get the idea to do that?"

"I dunno."

"Think you can sleep now?"

"Maybe."

* * *

The day of the border-crossing dawned clear. Kyle came downstairs to find Logan waking up Creed. That ended in a long kiss. Kyle watched them out of the corner of his eye, and rolled up his sleeping bag. Maverick woke up, rubbed his eyes through the olive-green baklava he wore for sleeping, and caught sight of Wolverine and Sabretooth kissing. Twenty years, he thought he'd never have to see that again... Maverick turned his face towards the wall, and exchanged his helmet for the baklava in a swift, practiced gesture. He didn't like people seeing his face, even if they were on the same side.

When he turned around after lacing up his boots, all was again right with the world.

The bus made good time out of the city, blending in well with the market-day traffic. A few people headed home from the market early tried to get the bus to stop for them, and after a moment's thought, Logan let them board. He charged them a few coins for the ride so it wouldn't look suspicious, and switched on the radio. Logan couldn't find a music station that didn't set his teeth on edge, so he left it on a news channel. As they found their seats, the travelers saw a foreign-exchange student with a blonde ponytail reading a book in English, his feet propped up on the seat in front of him, then a sickly-looking guy muffled in a scarf, hat, and woolen coat, and finally a big, rude American who had taken over the entire back row. Nobody felt like arguing with him.

They went through one road-block just outside of town, and another twenty miles to the South. The passengers Logan had picked up in Groznyy were gone by now, and he hadn't stopped for anyone else. Creed opened the panel behind his head, and Mira tumbled out on top of him from the modified confines of the engine compartment. He picked her up quickly and set her on one of the back seats- -metal seats that had been stripped of upholstery before hand, using the bottom edge of his sleeves as oven mitts.

Mira didn't look too good.

Creed shook her by the shoulders. Mira coughed a few times, and slapped Creed across the face angrily.

Creed slapped her back judiciously. Mira recoiled, hand to a glowing handprint on her cheek, and Creed blew on his fingers to cool them. Maverick arrived at the back of the bus, with a glass liter-bottle of kerosene.

"Feed Cinderella," Creed growled, "-I'm goin' up front before I forget she's the cargo an' ace 'er." He squeezed past Maverick, and slouched into a seat opposite Wolverine at the front of the bus, muttering darkly. Maverick gave Mira the bottle. She screwed off the cap, and chugged it.

* * *

"Logan, what's an 'expedient'?" Kyle asked, leaning over Wolverine's shoulder to point out the word in a worn, red, hard-back book he'd been reading.

"Somethin' that makes somethin' else faster, or the fastest way to do somethin'," Logan told him.

Kyle sat back down in the seat behind the driver's, and read some more. The he asked,

"When did the Americans go to war with Mexico?"

"You skipped to the back, didn't you?" Logan observed, amused.

"Catchy chapter title," Kyle shrugged, "most people tend to come down on ya pretty hard for civil disobedience."

"Fucking Walden. I'm cursed," Creed groaned, snatching the book away from his son before more damage could be done.

"Hey-" began Kyle, trying to get the book back.

"You got a better idea?" Logan pointed out, "-It's a long way ta Georgia."

Creed scanned the compartment, and his eyes fell on a newspaper someone had left behind.

It was in Russian. Creed couldn't read Russian, only speak it. He handed the newspaper to Kyle, and pocketed 'Walden'.

"Want me to drive for a while?" Creed asked, dropping a hand on Logan's shoulder.

"Okay," Logan pulled the bus over, and they switched. Creed adjusted the seat a bit, and turned off the radio. The bus got underway again.

Kyle eyed the Cyrillic characters on the battered newsprint dubiously.

"Can you read this?" Kyle handed the newspaper to Logan.

"Sure," Logan scanned the front page for a moment. "Here's one for ya. It's about a guy from Groznyy. -'As the singer for Russia's chart-topping Dead Dolphins, Artur Atsalamov gets plenty of welcome attention. When he ventures into central Moscow, however, it isn't mobs of fans that Atsalamov keeps a wary eye out for -- it's the police. As an ethnic Chechen, Atsalamov is often singled out for discrimination, suspicion and harassment."

"Dead Dolphins...?" Creed echoed, condescendingly.

"Did they print any of his lyrics?" Kyle asked.

"Ahh... a little. The song's called Dead City. 'We are children from hell. We don't need the sun. We quench our thirst on tears, and laugh. Don't mess with us.'"

"I could get inta that," Creed decided.

"Read me the rest of it..." said Kyle.

About an hour later, Kyle took the newspaper to the back of the bus where Mira was watching sullenly out the window, and held the newspaper up for her so she could read the article without the paper catching on fire.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when they came to the Georgian Border. Logan was driving again. Creed had woken up Kyle and Mira to put Mira back into the engine compartment ten minutes ago, and she hadn't gone quietly. She had finally stopped pounding on the panel behind him, though. Kyle looked uneasily at the panel, and hoped a) she was all right in there, and b) she wouldn't try anything with Creed scarcely five inches away through the panel.

The mountain border station was a low wooden-and-brick building built into a narrow defile, and the road beside it was crossed by a metal swing-bar gate and a chain of metal caltrops, like a set of giant, sharp-pointed jacks, each one capable of shredding a bus tire like a cheap party balloon. A guard in a heavy woolen coat and hat held up hand for them to stop.

"Everybody stay cool," Maverick said, quietly. They had papers, but the bus would still look fishy. Logan let up on the gas, and coasted to a stop twenty feet from the barrier. Two border-guards with machine guns walked up to the bus, and two more waited by the door, clearly not happy about being outside in the mountains at midnight. They had every right to be. It was freezing cold.

"All papers, and the registration of this vehicle," one of the guards demanded in a bored tone, "-step outside, please," he motioned with the gun, illustrating his request.

"#& cold tonight, ain't it?" Logan said, passing his forged papers and registration to the second guard, who had slung his gun across his back. Maverick was next, handing his papers over with an asthmatic cough that caused the guards to step back a pace. They exchanged glances in the universal 'I won't tell if you don't' expression, and didn't demand that the traveler to remove his scarf. Then it was Kyle's turn. Creed stepped off the bus last, boots crunching into the gravel beside the road loudly. The guards didn't like the look of him, and the one who took his papers stood back as far as possible. Creed was wearing gloves, but the guard felt the outline of two of his claws through the tips of the glove-fingers anyway, and jumped backwards while his buddy covered him with the machine gun.

"What the hell is this?" Demanded the first guard, "-Kolya, cover me!"

"It's my hand, jackass," Creed answered sweetly, still holding out the papers.

"Take your gloves off," the other guard ordered. He turned to Maverick and added, "-scarf, you too." While Creed's hands were not legally weapons, Maverick had his helmet on under the scarf, and the game was up.

* * *

Sabretooth roared in the faces of the guards, throwing his arms wide open, and making his eyes go yellow-white. There was a three-round burst fired by one of the guards, but it struck the side of the bus, winging through the under-coach cargo space harmlessly. Creed shredded the guards across the throat and upper chest, claws punching through the ends of his leather gloves like wet paper as he struck bone and kept going. Kyle smelled the blood, and eyed the other two guards speculatively, stepping out in front of Maverick without really thinking about it. One of the two guards went for his radio, and Logan shot him cleanly through the right eye. He fell. The last guard saw what was coming at him from the direction of the bus, and unloaded a full banana-clip of ammunition, hosing the area down like a firefighter.

From inside the guard-house, two more guards, armed but wearing only partial uniforms, started following his example. Logan took cover behind a patrol jeep parked in front of the windows, and exchanged fire with the guards while two bullet holes in his stomach closed up. Creed was up and running, 'in the zone' despite taking a high lung shot, one to his upper arm, and one that winged his voice box. Kyle fell with a cry, having taken several rounds across the line of his hip. Maverick, now exposed standing behind Kyle, opened fire and took out the last guard outside. He dive-rolled over one shoulder, and took shelter from the answering gunfire behind a boulder on the far side of the road.

Logan did a quick scramble-and-dash to the guard house door, and kicked it open from a low crouch.

Creed, meanwhile, vaulted through the spider-webbed glass of the front window with an explosive crash and pounced on a guard, breaking the man's back low over one knee, and followed up with a claw strike that separated the guy's jaw from the rest of his head, snapping his neck back in one move, open and broken. He turned around to finish the last guy, and saw Logan solemnly wiping off the blade of his knife against the side of his pants.

It was over.

* * *

Logan walked outside, and was about to key his radio, when he caught sight of Kyle.

"North?" he called out, looking around warily.

Maverick came out from behind the boulder, and waved once. Logan went over and inspected Kyle.

""I'm okay," Kyle told him quickly, looking sheepish.

/He's doin' the, 'it's just a scratch' routine/ Logan thought, with a smirk.

"You'll live ," Logan told Kyle, patting him on the shoulder and standing up. Creed came out of the guard house, cracked his knuckles, and grinned down at the body of the guard who had succeeded in shooting them up.

"Sir, you have definitely improved my day," he declared, shaking the corpse's hand warmly.

"That's enough," Logan said, dryly.

"Dead is dead, Logan. Might as well say somethin' nice about 'im." Creed reasoned, with a shrug and a smile.

"You gonna get out o' that mess, or let it freeze y'into a popsicle?" Logan asked, pointing to the ichor soaking Creed's front and sleeves.

"Look who's talkin'."

"I'll catch up."

Creed disappeared back into the guard house, licking his fingers.

"Well, some things never change," observed Maverick, re-loading his gun.

The blood across his lap was cooling, and Kyle shivered. He felt oddly warm though...

Dead WAS dead. And from the way Logan was moving the bodies to the side of the road so they could drive the bus through, he knew it too.

"Hey Logan, they got hot water showers!" Creed's yell drifted out the open door. "Wanna join me?"

"Quit screwin' around!" Logan yelled back, before closing the eyes of the body he'd just finished dragging.

The difference between them was, Logan saw both sides of the battle. He was the one who remembered that the border guards had been doing a job just as Team X was. To Creed, they were just prey. Kyle stood shakily, and walked over to the first two guards that Creed had killed. They did look kinda comically surprised lying there. Kyle made a face at one of the corpses experimentally.

It didn't do anything for him.

Kyle looked up to see Logan watching him, eyes cold and hard.

They looked at each other for a long, tense, moment, then Logan seemed to see something in Kyle's face that reassured him, and he nodded once before going about his task.

Kyle took each of the bodies by a wrist, and started dragging them across to where Logan had left the other two.

* * *

-THUD-

Kyle looked in the direction of the sound, and remembered Mira. She was still shut up in back of the bus. -Thump-thump...- the sound came again, this time punctuated with angry screaming in Russian. Wolverine looked at the bus, then at Kyle.

"Stay here."

Kyle nodded uneasily. Maverick watched Wolverine board the bus.

"Wildchild, right?" Kyle was surprised by Maverick's voice.

"Yeah...?"

"Who ARE you?" Maverick asked.

"You feel like taking your mask off?" Kyle asked, nonplussed.

"...Point taken," Maverick admitted. He considered telling Wildchild that he had kinetic absorption powers and could have caught the bullets Wildchild had taken by standing in front of him earlier, but decided against it. For one thing, he didn't think the young man had stood there on purpose, and for another, the less damage he took, the better. Armor suit or no armor suit, if he did somehow become injured, he didn't know for sure that Wildchild would be immune to the legacy virus. Considering that similar healing abilities had made Wolverine and Sabretooth immune, Wildchild was -probably- immune, but without knowing for sure Wildchild was related to one of them, Maverick preferred to take as few chances as possible.

Besides, bullets sucked.

The sounds of a brief fight, then a bottle breaking were heard from inside the bus. Then the inside of the bus caught on fire. Maverick turned to Kyle with a long-suffering sigh.

"Want to make a bet?" he asked.

"What d'you have in mind?"

Sabretooth looked out the door of the guard-house, steaming a little in the cold night air. He took stock of the burning bus, Kyle, and then Maverick, listening carefully. Then he smirked, and went back inside to finish his shower.

"Forget it," said Maverick.

Just then a back window burst apart, and Logan fell out onto the road, grappling with Mira. He was covered in fire. Mira's eyes shone like glowing liquid glass, and she was keeping Logan blinded by spitting some kind of burning fluid into his eyes. Wolverine could have killed her with his claws easily, but so far he had kept them sheathed. He was playing it to the end, counting on his healing ability to keep him alive until he could beat her by conventional means.

Kyle's eyes narrowed.

A moment later, Kyle's fist connected solidly with Mira's head, and she dropped. Wolverine felt the shock of the blow travel through the body in his hands, then Mira went limp and fell on him.

He rolled to the side, and shoved her away. Something that felt like a heavy woolen blanket patted him down, killing the flames.

Gah, THIS was gonna hurt...

* * *

Deep-tissue healed first, then the first wet under-layer of skin, and the nerves that came with it screamed to life like an engine catching. As sound cut back in, Logan heard a series of muffled explosions and gunfire as the ammo in their packs cooked off, blowing the bus apart some more. Finally the last layer of skin sealed, pushing things like dots of melted button and burnt coarse-weave fabric out of the first layer like water picking up a film of motor oil. And it was over. All Wolverine had left was the pins-and-needles whisper of his hair growing back, the soft, singed lining of Maverick's woolen coat, and the hard gravel underneath him. Logan uncurled his fists stiffly and stood, wrapping the coat around himself. Mira lay on the ground at his feet, still unconscious. Her eyes were open and dark, with only the smallest points of orange light glowing from their depths.

"Damn," Logan muttered.

"You okay?" Kyle asked. -He'd been hurt just about every way he THOUGHT was possible, but he had yet to be burned alive.

"I've looked worse," Logan assured him.

Kyle believed it.

"Whoooeee..." Sabretooth surveyed the scene once more. "What did ya say to her, Logan? It smells like barbeque out here!"

Wolverine passed him without a word, heading into the guard house to see if he could find some clothes that were neither bullet holed nor burnt. Sabretooth had already changed into his brown-and-yellow costume, but he'd added heavy brown leather boots to it, and a long tan sheepskin coat that had been part of a border-guard's off-duty collection.

The combination gave him a lion-like look that Maverick knew from experience wasn't accidental. Creed had the worst intentional taste in clothes of anyone he'd ever worked with, and considering John Wraith, that was saying something.

Then again, if the man could strike fear into the hearts of his enemies while wearing a 'Cats' costume, maybe Sabretooth knew something the rest of them didn't.

* * *

Creed made himself useful and secured Mira from doing any more damage, using several pairs of handcuffs he'd found inside. Maverick hot-wired the guards' patrol jeep. Kyle and Logan showed up a few minutes later in gray and dark blue guard uniforms. Logan's radio had been totaled in the bus, so he borrowed one from Maverick.

"Wolverine to Hightower. Come in."

Static.

"Wolverine to Hightower, do you copy?"

More static. Then...

"Hightower to Wolverine. What's your status?"

"We're on the deadline. The package is hot, but no wolves yet."

"Wrong. Hightower shows wolves from both sides of the line, inbound."

"Fliers or walkers?" Wolverine asked.

"Walkers from the hot zone, fliers from the cold. Can you relocate and dig in?"

"Negative. Package will draw wolves. Intel was good on that part."

"Divide. Set an NVIS beacon on the package, and we'll pick it up."

"Copy that. How do the rest of us exfil?"

"Very, very quietly," growled Nick Fury.

"Is that you?" Wolverine asked, recognizing the style even through the voice scrambler.

"Just get to work," Fury told him.

"Roger that."

* * *

With stealth blown, the only thing left was speed. Kyle and Creed took the patrol jeep and headed deeper into Georgian territory, while Logan and Maverick took Mira down the hill below the border station. Burning the guard house itself was a good afterthought, since it hid a lot of loose ends, and would blind infa-red sensors, at least for a while. A mile down from the fire, Logan set the NVIS beacon in a clearing, and stashed Mira under an overhang of rock nearby. It wasn't good, though it was better than no cover at all. Mira was awake again, but she didn't talk. Maverick thought that was a good thing. Logan didn't.

They heard the blacked-out chopper before they saw it, and it pressed the tops of the trees outwards with the wind of it's landing. Nick Fury was on it. Three fully-suited firefighters and a doctor were with him. They took Mira.

Fury jumped to the ground beside Logan.

Wolverine nodded to Maverick, and Maverick nodded back, boarding the chopper after the girl. They didn't need to say anything, really. Fury watched Maverick board the chopper with a flicker of annoyance, then turned to Logan.

"Good work. Messy as hell, though," Fury shouted, over the sound of the rotors.

"Look who ya sent," Logan said, arms crossed.

"I want you to stand down for a while," Fury continued, "-get to somewhere near an international airport, and disappear. Take Creed with you."

Logan nodded.

"How did Gibney do?"

"He heals well. We're takin' 'im with us."

Fury laughed.

"You knew who he was, didn't you," Logan said, not quite accusing.

"Like I told you over the East river a while back," Fury said, not quite apologizing, "-what I know I can't tell, but have a cigar," he handed Wolverine this and a white envelope, and climbed back aboard the helicopter.

For the second time that night, a ball of fire blacked out everyone's night vision goggles. The helicopter pilot stripped his off with an irritated gesture, and the helicopter rose against the burning sky, vanishing into the East. Logan, on his own again, set out in the direction of the fireball. One thing about Creed, he was seldom hard to find.

* * *

Two weeks later found them in the outdoor section of a restaurant in Berlin, Germany.

"I love this country," Sabretooth declared, as the beer arrived. Summer sunlight threaded by the shadows of vines made his hair glow golden. It was loose today, curling down around his shoulders. Kyle sat beside Creed on the wooden bench opposite Logan. He hadn't talked much today, but now and then his nose would twitch curiously as some new food (or waitress) smell wafted by. Wolverine, now comfortably back in his perennial plaid shirt and jeans, snagged one of the fresh beer mugs, and drank.

Kyle was silent or child-like a lot, these days. Creed didn't seem to think it was strange, but Logan had been wondering about Kyle's behavior quite a bit. He knew that ex-child-soldiers would sometimes slip back a year or five if they were kept safe and out of action for a while, but he thought there was more to it than that, for Kyle. Probably the Adamantium thing.

"Hey Logan," Sabretooth put his hand down flat on the table just under Logan's nose.

"What?"

"You're too quiet. You plottin' on me already, partner?" Creed paused, smiled and then added, "...or are ya rememberin' some other time we were here?"

"You mean Berlin, or this restaurant?" Kyle asked.

"Germany," Sabretooth shrugged, "-I've been here lots of times."

"That's true enough," Logan nodded, "-most of the time it's a great place to visit. Then things like Hitler happen, so you gotta go see the tower o' London instead."

"Hey, Hitler was funny. He talked just like Magneto, ya know that?"

"And you mentioned that ta Magneto, didn't you," Wolverine guessed.

"Uh, yeah," Creed admitted. "That man has no sense o' humor."

"Wait," Kyle held up a hand, "-Hitler?"

"Yeah. I did some undercover work in the SS, and those boys really took a shine ta me."

"Nobody caught on that you were, ya know, a Mutant?" Kyle asked, lowering his voice.

"Not at first," Creed shrugged.

"What happened when they did find out?" Kyle asked.

"Well, there was a little problem, but the brass ran it by the boss, an' all he did was introduce me to this tall blonde chippie named Leni."

Logan choked on his beer.

"Uh-" Creed thought fast. The story had kind of run away with him, and he hadn't meant to bring this up in front of Kyle. Leni Zauber, as both he and Logan were quite aware, was Mystique.

"HITLER introduced you to LENI?" Wolverine snarled.

"Yeah, he did. He liked the blonde, blue, an' indestructible look."

"...Was that payback for Munich?" Logan asked, after a pause.

"Uh... no. Sorry."

"Right. You don't get to make tiger jokes -ever- again," Logan decided.

"Fair enough," Sabretooth agreed.

The fact that one of Sabretooth's former code-names was 'El Tigre', and the fact that Logan had subsequently dated a lady crime boss named 'Tyger Tiger' was now closed.

"Huh?" said Kyle.

"Don't even ask," Sabretooth told him, firmly.

Kyle sighed, and looked at the dark mug-rings staining the wood of the tabletop.

-But just then, the food arrived.

-

* * *

Author's notes:

I know I just thrashed the continuity of how Sabretooth and Mystique met during WWII. Deal with it.

Re-reading this chapter, I realize that Logan's willingness to kill in the border guards but not Mira may have been OOC. That wasn't my intention. It made sense at the time though, so I'm leaving it alone.


	5. Damage

Title: How's it Gonna Be

Chapter 5: Damage  
Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth  
Rating: NC-17/R  
Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.  
Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured. _Italics_: Wildchild's thoughts.  
Summary: Some things don't work on the first try.

* * *

Chapter 5: Damage

Kyle was running. It was nearly dawn, and the deserted beach felt cool under his toes. He startled a flock of seagulls, and the birds took off flapping.

After Berlin, they'd returned to the U.S. between missions. Wildchild wasn't sure exactly WHERE in Florida this beach was, but a lot of spent plastic glow-sticks seemed to wash up on shore, and Logan said that was because of a Navy base nearby.

The safehouse six miles up the beach back the way he'd come was Creed's, or at least Creed said it was. Kyle thought the house was just where the CIA, or SHIELD, or whoever Sabretooth really worked for hoped he would stay whenever he was off duty. It was a nice place, all stone block and tan stucco, with a big wooden porch out back facing the water. This was the kind of house you could bring a girl and score bonus points.

Of course you probably wouldn't want to mention how far it was to the next house. By Kyle's count, the beach house had about a ten-mile buffer zone that ran right down into the water, marked out by a razor-wire topped chain link fence with lots of 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT', 'DO NOT ENTER' and 'BEWARE OF TIGER' signs. There was only one gated road in or out of the place, with a security system rivaling Jurassic Park. With a running start, Sabretooth could probably vault the fence, so it was really more to keep people out than in, but still...

It was unmistakably a cage. Kyle hadn't realized how far he'd gone, but suddenly he was at the East fence. He ran up the chain link with his toes and did a back flip, landing back in the sand with a whoop.

Kyle fell silent, and looked out through the thin metal diamonds of the fence again. He closed his fingers around the chain link, and looked to where the sunrise would be.

The ease with which his abilities were coming to him had puzzled Kyle at first, but then, he hadn't trained like this in years, and back when he had, he'd been on eye level with Logan's shoulder. Now things were different.

Now he lived in a house on the beach with his father and Logan, where military issue glow-sticks were a kind of seashell. Kyle had turned over a couple of alternate names for Wolverine in his head, but 'dad' was already taken, and in the end he'd come back to Wolverine's out-of-costume name. There was only one Logan. The name had become a title unto itself. A title meaning, um, what exactly...? Anyways.

Kyle looked up at the razor wire that topped the fence, sharp edges reflecting the orange glow of the sky. He crouched, and leapt. Catching the top reinforcing bar of the fence with his hands, Kyle vaulted up as if to clear it, and landed with his feet placed between the jagged loops, balancing.

Huh.

There was a small cut on the side of Kyle's hand, and he licked it clean absently as it sealed.

The sun rose, and he watched.

* * *

Kyle came to a palm tree that had claw marks on it. He matched his claws to the marks on the tree, but he couldn't quite reach the fifth gouge with his thumb claw.

Hmm...

Kyle took a swipe at the tree with his claws. No bad. The cut reached about an inch deep. He did it again. The tree wasn't actually that thick. Given enough time, he -could- get through it.

And he had th-

"Ah, shit..." Kyle looked at the single, wide-set group of claw marks he'd noticed at first, and then his own over-lapping scratches below it on the trunk. He'd just carved the crap out of a marked tree. Well, maybe Sabretooth wouldn't notice. Yeah, and pigs were gonna fly any day now.

Kyle considered the problem.

Then he set to work with his claws again. He'd wanted to know if he could cut through the palm tree's trunk, and he was in trouble anyway. Fuck it.

A hand fell on the back of Kyle's neck. Kyle froze in mid-swipe.

"Havin' fun?" Creed purred. Kyle said nothing. He knew what was coming. Creed threw Kyle aside one handed, and looked the tree over. There was a deep gouge in the wood, about halfway through. The wet scent of heart-of-palm poured out of it. "-Looks like a cat got to it," Creed snorted.

Kyle scrambled to his feet and waited, alert. Creed jump-kicked the tree, and it went over.

"So, where were we?"

Kyle knew he was supposed to be scared at this point.

"You were givin' me a lesson on the division of lumber?"

"Lumbar, maybe. Those break good too," Creed grinned.

"What's a-" began Kyle.

"Ask Logan. An' you don't so much as piss near one o' my trees again. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Kyle nodded.

"Good. Glad we got that straight. Yer meetin' Logan in town," Creed pointed up the beach to the East, "-it's that way."

"How far?" Kyle asked.

"My mistake, it's that way..." Creed pointed down the beach to the West.

Kyle thought for a moment, then started running East.

* * *

"Which way did he go?" Logan asked, looking up from tinkering with his motorbike.

"The right way. You're meetin' 'im in town in a couple hours," Creed told him.

"And the training continues," Logan smirked, looking back down at the shock assembly, "-forgot how much further he can be pushed."

"Yeah... you wanna know somethin' else amazing?"

"What's that?"

"He told me yesterday that he didn't know he was gettin' paid for those missions we did."

"Figures," said Logan.

"Why?"

"Ya don't get paid for bein' on probation with Alpha Flight, either."

"That's bullshit," Creed decided, darkly.

"That's the way it was," Logan torqued a bolt down, "-Kyle don't know much of anything past sixth grade, in case ya haven't noticed."

"Enlighten me."

"There's twelve grades. Then it goes to the college level."

"So what you're sayin' is, Kyle don't know shit besides how to be a mask or a killer, an' even then he fucks up the paperwork?" Creed reviewed.

"Pretty much."

"How'd that happen?"

"A normal teacher ain't gonna tell a student who could kill 'er without half tryin' to sit up, pay attention, an' stop lookin' out the window at the birds like he's hungry," Logan explained.

"Why didn't ya help 'im?"

"Why didn't YOU?" Wolverine demanded, glaring at Creed over the gas tank.

"I was busy."

Logan looked at him hard for a moment, then let it drop.

"The good thing about Kyle is, we got as long as it takes ta fix the problem. How old is he now, twenty five?"

"Twenty six," Creed corrected him.

"You know when Kyle's birthday is."

"June twenty-third. -Funny how Hudson got that part right," Creed noted, acidly.

"That's the real one? Twenty-three?" Logan asked.

"Give or take, yeah."

"...DAMMIT," Logan winced, putting a hand to the side of his head.

"Talk ta me..." Creed said, quickly.

"SHIT- -I can't remember..."

"Let it go-"

"I HAD it, but- ...damn," Logan sighed. He noticed that Sabretooth was now crouched beside him, arm around Logan's back like that alone could keep him from forgetting.

"You remember who you're meetin' in town?" Creed asked.

"Kyle."

"Then there's no harm done."

Crisis over, Creed found himself with an armful of Wolverine. His sun-warmed hair smelled like WD-40. Creed saw no reason whatsoever to move.

Logan looked at Creed's face thoughtfully. /He was really scared back there.../

"I'm not gonna hide out here forever, y'know."

"Why not?" asked Creed.

"Because there's stuff that needs doin' out there, too."

"Yer ol' buddy Nick has work cut out for us just fine," Creed protested, "-we just got BACK from Panama-"

"What about -people-? I'm part of the X-Men, in case ya forgot, and Kyle's never lived apart from other kids since he was ten or twelve."

"Are you sayin' Kyle needs a brother or sister?" Sabretooth asked, totally serious.

There was a brief silence.

Wolverine gave Creed a look that would have blistered engine paint.

"No. I meant this secret agent crap. Hidin' from the world don't work for me anymore. -I found somethin' better."

"You wanna take Kyle back ta Westchester with you," Creed translated, disgustedly.

"Somethin' like that, yeah."

"Logan...?"

"Yes?"

"I won't be an X-Man. Not even for you," -it went without saying that Sabretooth wouldn't tolerate being left behind.

"I figured that."

"So what's the plan?" Creed asked.

"I'm workin' on it."

* * *

Logan unpacked a stack of books onto the bar between the kitchen and the living room. Kyle toweled his hair off in the entryway, and dropped the towel onto the floor. He'd been caught in a brief rainstorm on the way to town, and still felt a bit damp.

"Yours," Logan set aside an atlas, "-mine," 'Walden', replacing the copy Creed had taken, "-mine," 'The Art of War', and 'Catch-22', "-yours," A biology book, mostly on anatomy and genetics, "-uh..." 'Rainbow Six', 'Patriot Games', and 'The Hunt For Red October' got their own pile. "Heh heh..." A 'Calvin and Hobbes' collection got it's own pile as well. "Mine," 'The Big Sleep', "-yours," a book on world history, with lots of pictures, "-yours," 'Never Cry Wolf', "-mine," 'The Time Machine', "-yours," 'Elfquest', "-mi-"

"'Bout time you guys got home!" Creed yelled in the back door, "-you ever ate shark before, Kyle?"

Kyle was out the back door instantly.

"Huh," Logan put Kyle's books on the coffee table, and his own in the back bedroom. The 'Clancy's' ended up back in the bag, and the 'Calvin and Hobbes', he left on the bar.

* * *

Kyle woke up to the sound of fighting. He didn't know how long it had been going on, only that this was a bad one. Kyle tried burrowing under the covers, but it didn't help. So he put his hands under his head, and listened. This was the sound of pain, and rage. This was a promise of murder. This was the sound of a cat getting it's neck broke, and a man trying to rip a cat's claws out of his face along with some skin.

Kyle had never heard a sound like this, and it scared him.

He got up, and padded down into the kitchen. The fight was somewhere outside, on the beach. As softly as he could, Kyle opened the back door a hand-span, and looked out. Bright waves of sand under the moon, shaded with the dark lines of footprints, and scattered with blood. Twelve hours at the most, and the tide would take everything.

Wolverine and Sabretooth were fighting in the edge of the water, each footfall and kick raising a spray of seawater. There was a nasty strip ripped loose from Creed's skull, and the left side of Logan's chest was clawed and partly busted in. Kyle wondered if the other holes in their clothes had stories like that.

Neither one gave ground, as they danced.

Like Psylocke before him, Kyle watched, and he wondered.

Kyle's eyes were good, easily as effective as a starlight scope, and they focused faster.

Tonight, they had to.

Another of THOSE screams, as Wolverine's claws punched through the top of Sabretooth's shoulder from beneath. Creed used this immediately, grabbing a handful of Logan's hair, and trying to bring his face up against the points of the claws in Creed's shoulder. Logan twisted loose and hit him again, but Creed was ready for it, and used his fist and elbow in a two-part blow that left Wolverine's ears ringing.

Kyle couldn't watch this.

Wildchild couldn't look away either, but he COULDN'T watch THIS. Shouldn't he be doing something? Getting a shotgun? A hose? Calling the cops? Just moving closer so they knew he was THERE?

What would he do though, if he stood three meters away, and they -still- didn't see him? Did he really want to know how if he was one of the players or just a set?

So Kyle watched, through the shadowed bar of the partly open doorway, and he waited for it to be over.

They were tired, he could see, split-seconds of wasted motion following one blow, then another, then when Kyle was sure one would fall, a blinding-fast counter, and a quick spray of blood across the shallow water, turning the foam a swirling pink until the next wave. Bite. Cut. Crunch. Thud. Smackt. Snap. Rip. Turn-

Thunk-CRACKT!

It was suddenly still, and only the waves moved. Wolverine pulled his claws out of the back of Sabretooth's neck wearily, and sunk to his knees in the surf beside him with a slight whimper. His arms hung at his sides without stirring, claws and hands in the water.

He said something then, but the sound of the waves covered it.

At length, Logan got slowly to his feet, and dragged Creed clear of the water.

Then Logan started talking again, and he didn't stop, a calm, earnest conversation that Kyle doubted Sabretooth was even awake to hear, what with having his neck broken.

Kyle drew back inside, and closed the door softly.

* * *

The Summer passed slowly, and with every day he woke up to the smell of this beach, Logan knew more certainly that things couldn't last the way they were. He'd called Amiko from town a while back, and her voice sounded a million miles away. Logan had continued where he'd left off years ago in Kyle's hand-to-hand training, and Creed had things to teach the boy as well.

Kyle was more interested in first-hand-account stories than the history book, and he basically ignored the thing.

He took a knife to the bindings of the atlas, and taped up the pages like a giant-map puzzle on the walls of his room.

The biology book was somewhat interesting to him, but he seemed to pay far more attention to the cutaway diagrams than the text explaining how everything worked. As he studied, he would often trace the pattern of a vein network or the edge of a skeletal system with the tip of his forefinger claw.

Kyle was learning -some- academic things, but he was far outstripping this with what he was learning physically. He was visibly stronger than he'd been back in Toronto, and his endurance was just beginning to enter the gray area between a normal Human athlete and something more. He had learned that a well-aimed punch could dislocate as well as just bash.

Kyle's healing factor seemed to be approaching normal speed too.

Back in Alpha Flight It had always been unreliable. Maybe it was just a teenager thing, like waiting for a voice to reach it's adult pitch after breaking.

The thing that -really- pissed Logan off that summer was how much of this was happening at once. He and Creed could train, but they weren't -that- good.

Kyle was digging himself out of a very deep hole, a quiet hole that NO-ONE had noticed he'd crawled into in the first place, and a hole that he'd probably still be in if Sabretooth hadn't tried to use him as a pawn. In many ways, Kyle was the best thing to come out of the whole mess.

In some ways though, Kyle was still acting very strange.

The sleepy-puppy-in-yer-lap thing, for example.

It wasn't good to cut the kid off from outside contact like this, even when said outside contact wouldn't necessarily like Kyle back. Sure, there was the town down the beach, but still...

This had gone on long enough.

* * *

One August morning no different from any other, Wolverine woke up just before dawn. Sabretooth was still asleep, hair messy and flat against the sheets in the humid Florida air. 'A tawny wave', wasn't that the line Sam Spade had used? -Except that Sam had thrown the girl out on her ear a few minutes after making the observation.

Logan was past 'what am I doing with him.' He was past 'what am I doing here.' Things just WERE, and with the same instincts that had told him Elsie Dee wouldn't detonate the bomb, he knew this thing with Sabretooth and him would work.

The question was, what now.

Creed was a creature of habit, and if it were left up to him, he'd stay way out on the outskirts of town, and keep everything exactly the way it was now.

The hell with that.

Logan had a life outside the barrier fence, and even if he hadn't, Kyle was getting dangerously attached. It was time to open up new options, for both of them. Logan slipped out of bed and dressed quietly. Creed hadn't woken. He paused in the doorway, standing in the scent of the room, eyes closed. Then he walked out to the garage, got on his bike, and rode.

* * *

"Hello?" It was Storm's voice.

"Hey. It's me."

"Logan?"

"How ya been?"

"Good, but... where are you?" Storm asked.

"Can't tell ya that over a payphone. I'm back in the 'States, though."

"Ah. You called Nicholas," Storm understood. Of -course- Storm would understand, she was awesome that way, "-what are your plans?"

"I'm still figurin' that part out. I don't usually want ta say this much without sayin' it." There was a smile behind his voice, one Storm couldn't remember having heard very often.

"Do you want to come and visit?"

"I'd like that. Did Jubilee get my letter?"

"Yes. Postmarked from Germany."

"I go where I'm needed most," Logan told her.

"You are needed by more people than I knew."

"Ororo, give it to me straight. Can I still come home, or not?"

"Yes," she answered without a pause.

" 'At's all I need ta know."

* * *

Creed was waiting for him. He stood in the bedroom doorway, one arm up and leaning against the door frame, dressed in a torn pair of camouflage cutoffs. Creed didn't speak. He moved aside so that Logan could enter the room, and caught Logan's wrist as he walked by. Creed shut the bedroom door behind him, hard.

He could smell the rain in the air, and the road grit on Logan's clothes, the tired finger-grease of the payphone on Logan's hands. He turned Logan's wrist over, and licked along the path of a vein he found there. Logan said nothing, but cupped the corner of Creed's jaw in his other hand. There was something brittle in this silence.

Creed continued his focused assault, touching, tasting, owning, peeling clothes as he went. This was his show, and Logan let him have it. This one wasn't a competition.

A promise, maybe...

They ended up in the shower. It was one of those big, painted cinder block and tile things with steel knobs, that would have looked less out of place at a gym.

Creed turned on the water one-handed.

Later, sitting on the floor of the shower against the wall, Logan watched the warm water from overhead wash his skin clean. Creed sat across from him, eyes closed. One leg was drawn up, and the toes of the other brushed the outside of Logan's knee with no particular aim.

Logan turned his face up towards the water, then back down, and cracked his neck. He extended the claws on his right hand, and held them up in the stream at just the right angle, letting the casings in his forearm fill with warm water. He retracted the claws slowly, and water ran down out of the three holes as the bone spikes displaced it. He repeated this with the claws of his left hand. Creed watched him.

Logan flicked the left set out again, and offered them to Creed. Sabretooth took the claws between his hands and looked them over, running two fingers along the polished grain of the bone. Logan didn't let anyone else mess with his claws like this.

"You going?" Creed asked, after a while.

"Yeah," Logan replied. "Pack."

"Heh."

* * *

"I'll see you later tonight," Logan promised.

"I'll be at the Auger Inn," Creed nodded, lighting up, "-if I don't see you two by midnight, I'm comin' in after you."

"Oh ye of little faith," Logan snorted.

"Fifty bucks says the professor tries ta mind-scan you."

"With or without askin'?"

"Ha! You know I'm right."

"I'll see you."

* * *

Upstate New York was violently green in late August, and it felt almost like home. The mosquitoes were too wimpy for Canada, but they made up for it in numbers, and the bushes were full of crickets and cicadas.

Kyle watched passing traffic, and tried to ignore the conversation. He knew the logic behind why Creed was staying in town while he and Logan continued on to the mansion, but he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe they'd never see him again. Kyle hadn't been more than thirty miles away from either his dad or Logan since they day he left 'Captain Crash' at the beginning of the summer.

He wouldn't be -now- really. The X mansion wasn't that far from town, was it?

So, traffic.

* * *

The drive out to the mansion was silent. Logan hadn't liked leaving Creed behind either. Kyle caught the scent of the woods along the side of the road. This place wasn't too different from paradise omega.

He'd been here a few times before, but usually as just one small part of Alpha Flight. Team X, his group if Kyle could still be said to have one, wasn't coming here in force.

Outside the front door of the mansion, Kyle cracked.

"You think anybody's home?" he asked, nervously.

"Yer kiddin', right?"

"Just kinda hoping. I mean, they're not gonna like me. They're gonna see me as the reason you haven't been back."

"I've left the X-Men before, ya know."

"But still... I- -they're Human."

"HUH?" Logan looked at Kyle incredulously.

"I mean, they were, right? Before they got their mutations?"

"So?"

"We weren't ever Human, were we?"

"Look kid, I can't remember back that far. You're the expert. Fact is, the people on the other side o' that door are Mutants, and so are we, so calm down."

"Yeah. Okay," Kyle wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Kyle, look at me."

Kyle did as he was told, but kept glancing away and then back again. Logan put his hands on Kyle's shoulders.

"You're gonna walk in there, because there's no reason ya shouldn't. You look these people in the eye. Yeah, they've saved the world from some serious shit. I know, I 'cause was there. I don' know everything that Alpha Flight's had a piece of, but I know what I saw in Georgia. You got what it takes."

Kyle swallowed. What the hell could he say to THAT?

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I say I'm his son, or yours?"

Logan opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning.

"You tell 'em what you want ta tell 'em," he answered, finally, "-it's not like bein' no blood kin to me has done much to protect Amiko."

"So... I can say I'm yours AND Sabretooth's, an' blame Canada?" Kyle asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Yeah."

Kyle started giggling hysterically.

"WHAT?" Wolverine demanded.

* * *

Beast opened the door at Logan's knock.

"Well... hello..."

"Hey, Hank," Wolverine listened for a moment, "-where is everybody?"

"Salem center. Miss Lee wanted a back-to-school shopping trip, and the concept spread like a disease. Kyle, good to see you again."

"McCoy," Kyle grinned back. He'd met Beast on his previous visits to the mansion, and was also vastly relieved to know they wouldn't be X-mobbed in the next five minutes.

"Please, come in," Beast stood aside.

They ended up in the kitchen. Logan stole a beer from Scott's stash, and Kyle raided the fridge, putting together a very large and chaotic sandwich.

"So, before everyone gets back..." Hank prompted carefully. He figured Logan would appreciate only having to hear the small talk once, and the others would have that covered when they returned.

"What gives?"

"I understand you two and Sabretooth are working for Colonel Fury now?"

"Yes," Logan answered.

"Did he tell you I was trying to get in touch with you?"

"No, 'e didn't. Ya found out Kyle was my son too, didn't ya."

"Yes," Beast adjusted his glasses.

"Creed told me, but... thanks," Logan took a pull on the beer.

"My pleasure. To be honest this was one of the few useful things that my research into the second-generation stabilization theory yielded. It looked good on paper, but it only occurs in a very small percentage of people. Cable, for example."

"Worked good enough for me," Logan said, looking at Kyle. Kyle's main attention was focused on the sandwich, but one of his ears angled slightly in Logan's direction.

"I wouldn't mind talking to Creed, actually," Hank added.

"That could be arranged," Logan agreed, "-you know where the Auger Inn is, right?"

"Vaguely."

"I'll take you there when we go back."

"You're not staying?" Hank blinked.

"Look-" Logan paused, "Kyle, you mind waitin' here?"

"I get it, I get it, I'm gone," Kyle assured, with a roll of the eyes. He took the remaining half of his sandwich, and left.

Logan listened until he heard the poolside door shut.

"Okay. From here on in, I don't want stuff about me or Creed or Kyle gettin' spread around. I know Sabretooth's not exactly dear ta yer heart, but I didn't like hearin' Kyle was his son from Jean when I said it ta you. Fair enough?"

"Yes. I didn't realize how delicate a situation this was."

"It doesn't end with Kyle," Logan watched his own reflection in the beer bottle for a moment, "-since I lost the Adamantium, I've been rememberin' things. Old things. Creed's one of 'em. Psi-Borg went to a lot of trouble makin' sure we hated each other's guts. Probably figured we'd be too dangerous if we teamed back up. I always knew he was my partner in our CIA days, but..." Logan sighed, "-let me put it this way. You know those spaghetti westerns where the gunslinger don't give a damn about anything, 'cause somebody killed his family?"

"I'm familiar with the genre."

"Well, I'm what Creed considers family. I'm... uh... It's complicated."

"You're his partner," McCoy translated, tactfully.

"Yeah."

/That explains a lot.../ McCoy thought.

"What are your plans? I assume you're the ah, 'brains of the outfit', to use your western metaphor?"

"Well, I am the tactician. Right now, as you've heard, we're workin' for Nick. Beyond that it's gonna take time."

"How has Kyle responded to all this? He's worked both sides of the fence, criminally speaking," McCoy asked.

"You mean how is he handling killing?" Logan asked, bluntly.

"Yes."

"He shoots back. That's all. The kid understands the rules of armed combat better than I had ANY reason ta hope. He's got the same us-and-them attitude Creed's got, but he ain't as pushy about it."

"I'm glad to hear that. What about cognitive abilities?" Beast asked, deeply interested.

"You mean is 'e soft in the head? No. I'm gonna have a word with Alpha Flight about education, though."

"Logan, you've never seen Kyle's medical records, have you."

"No. ...Why?"

"He has a learning disability. It's linked to the way he looked when you first met him."

"News flash Hank, Kyle's a mutant," Logan growled.

"Yes, but he has two mutations, not just the useful primary one he inherited from you and Sabretooth."

"Go on," said Logan, quietly.

"Forgive the irony, but the condition is called 'Fragile X'. It's what made Kyle look the way he did at first. It's also the reason he can't focus for long periods of time, or learn things in a traditional classroom environment. As you proved when you initially taught him to fight, it takes hands-on, individual instruction to get through to him. It also-"

Logan held up a hand.

"I get it."

"I'm sorry," McCoy told him.

"Yeah... me too. What causes this shit? Mercury?" /Adamantium?/

"No. Fragile X is normally an inherited condition, but in Kyle's case I theorize that it had more to do with appallingly lazy genetic combination procedures. Doctors who do things like this..." McCoy's voice fell to a growl that belied his civilized choice of words, "-you can't just throw same-sex DNA together. It looks feasible, but there's always a handful of base pairs that won't line up for division properly without amino adjustment. THIS unconscionable barbarian..."

"I get the picture. Ya better let me break this to Creed."

"The good news is that Kyle's case is more developmental than intellectual. If he can learn something once, he'll be able to remember it and use it," Beast added.

"Hmm."

"Kyle's most recent medical information is more than two years old. Do you think he would permit me to do a check-up on him?"

"I'll ask 'im, but don't hold yer breath," said Logan.

"Yes... quite," McCoy was well aware that doctors would be a touchy subject.

* * *

"YOOOO-HOOOOO! We're home!" Rogue could be worse than Jubilee sometimes, especially when riding on a post-shopping high. Kyle, who had heard the car doors open, ran back into the kitchen.

"The horde descends," McCoy smiled, calmly gaining the high ground of a kitchen counter.

Rogue and Jubilee came in first, and Jubilee tackled Logan in a hug.

"Hey, kid," he'd been distracted, but Logan HAD missed her. Jubilee's soft black hair smelled like strawberry shampoo and theater style popcorn butter. Jean, Ororo and Scott came in next, trailed by Bobby and the Professor. Kyle took an instant liking to Ororo, and helped her unpack the groceries. He accidentally punched through the bottom of a plastic milk jug with one of his claws though, so a round of chocolate milk was had by all. It was a good beginning.

Sabretooth was waiting, and he wasn't happy about it. The bartender kept giving him funny looks, like he was trying to remember where he'd seen him before. It was irritating.

Creed checked his watch. Eleven thirty. Goddamn it.

Why was he putting up with this again?

Oh yeah, Logan.

Somebody was feeding the jukebox in the corner, and as 'Sweet Home Alabama' came to a close, 'Tramp' spun up. It was a two-singer Otis Redding piece that went back and forth.

-

"Tramp!  
What you call me?  
Tramp.  
You didn't!  
You don't wear continental clothes, or Stetson hats.  
Well I tell you one dog-gone thing. It makes me feel good to know one thing. I know I'm a lover.  
Matter of opinion."

-

There was a time when Creed would have busted up the joint for making him listen to that, but today he just smirked. He knew why Logan liked this bar.

-

"Look here. You ain't got no money.  
I got everything.  
You can't buy me all those minks and sables and all that stuff I want.  
I can buy you minks, rats, frogs, squirrels, rabbits, ...anything you want, Woman.  
Look, you can go out in the Georgia woods and find them, Baby.  
Oh, you foolin'.  
You're still a tramp.  
That's all right."

-

Heh.

Some women couldn't get their priorities straight, and some men just couldn't hold their arsenic. Not his problem.

'Course bein' stuck out on the X-doormat wasn't much fun... In fact, it felt downright dangerous. Besides the X-Men, there wasn't anybody left who could really compete with him.

Most groups that tried to be too good eventually crawled off quietly and died.

Not so Xavier's brood. They weren't like the Morlocks. These were the strong ones. No wonder Wolverine hadn't stayed in Alpha Flight, with the X-Men around. Two of Mr. Sinister's pet projects, Mystique's foster daughter and most talented son, Magneto's ex-partner, and the god-damned PHOENIX. Jean had even Sabretooth's body count beaten if ya counted the planet destroyed when she made a sun go nova. -HE still had more face-to-face kills, though.

No, Sabretooth didn't want anything to do with these people, with the exception of Wolverine.

They made lousy enemies, though...

There was nothing quite like the sudden introduction of firm moral convictions to make a bad enemy out of an otherwise reasonable joe, and the X-Men had that problem in spades.

-Probably the only way Xavier could keep control of that much power under one roof. He couldn't use his mental powers too much without losing his 'good old headmaster' image, but cutting down the shades of gray with carefully chosen words worked just as well.

...Thing was, according to Magneto, Xavier didn't know he was doing it anymore.

/Fuckin' hypocrite./

It occurred to him that if he was Logan, he'd be halfway drunk by now.

Logan drank a lot. Always had, unless they were up in the mountains someplace.

Now there was an idea...

Creed wasn't sure when, but he'd lost control of the situation. He didn't like being -in- control, exactly, but he'd watched Logan fumble around in the dark memory-wise for so long that is had gotten to be a habit. BEING the one who didn't have all the information sucked.

What if McCoy found out the rest before Logan did?

What if there was more to the rest than he thought?

Creed didn't like McCoy, and the doc hadn't been in his original plan. Too damn smart for their own good, the lot of 'em.

* * *

At last, the door of the bar opened accompanied by familiar voices. Logan and Kyle walked in. Creed waved them over to his table. Kyle plopped down into the booth beside Creed, and put his head on his arms on the tabletop. Logan got a long island ice tea, and sat on the other side.

Creed poked Kyle's shoulder a few times.

"Yes?" Kyle asked, head still down.

"What happened ta you?"

"Plugged Iceman's Playstation into the danger room computer," Kyle mumbled, happily.

"You?" Creed asked Logan.

"Ya won the bet. But he did ask."

"That cancels out," decided Creed.

"Mmm."

"I want ta hit the Appalachians on the way home," Creed said briskly, "-there's this lake way up by-"

"Nice try, but we're not leavin' yet," Logan interrupted.

"Come on, you know how this works. Let 'em stew in their own juice for a year or two. Get used to the idea," Creed encouraged.

"No. They're terrified. If we cut out now they'll start lookin' before the road dust settles." Logan argued.

"This bar sucks, and yer friends wanna see my HEAD stuffed n' mounted on the mansion WALL," Creed snarled.

"For an assassin, you got beans for patience."

"You wanna talk PATIENCE?!"

"Wanna take it outside?" Logan challenged. He'd been reining in his temper all day.

"Oh, yeah."

"You got the key?" Logan asked.

"Uh-" Creed looked confused for a moment.

Kyle, head still on the table, held up a motel room key. He'd filched it when the argument started.

"Heh. Right," Creed patted Kyle on the shoulder, and didn't take the key. "-Move."

Kyle got up sleepily, and let his dad out of the booth.

* * *

It was hard for Creed to tell where they were anymore, but there were no cars within at least two miles, just the soft brush of the wind in the trees, and the crickets. Logan was asleep in the leaves on his back, head to one side. The fireflies were out that night, and one landed on his arm, casting black-and-yellow cutouts of shadow across the planes of Logan's face and chest. Creed, crouched in the leaves beside him, was tired. He couldn't sleep, though.

The fight earlier had told him two important things. First, the professor hadn't gotten to Logan yet. Nobody who had recently been tampered with by Professor X would break his ribs by twisting claws that were already -between- them.

Second, they'd sliced and thumped the hell out of each other, and left it at that. Logan wasn't trying to distract him from anything else.

All of which was good, but Creed couldn't shake the feeling that he was still missing something, that the X-Men were somehow playing him for a fool. Guilt was their first line of attack, and Logan had said they were 'terrified'.

Not terrified enough, if they should succeed in taking Logan away from him again...

It shouldn't come to that, though.

Creed had a plan...

* * *

Logan dreamed.

/Bullets. They ricochet off the sides of the corridor, and they strike my bones with the tooth-jarring ring of a sledge on a railroad spike. I'm running flat out. It took me half a year to remember who I was and come back down out of the mountains. There was something wrong though, something missing. Something I could never remember and I could never find. Terry Adams, I thought... Who was he again?

Every night I'd see spikes, and bones, and blood. The dreams of death. Of separation. Of that weird sea-change that even now I could feel beneath my skin like lead cancer. No, this wasn't lead...

It took me so long to come back this time.

When it did though, the sudden cold truth came out of my mind like the steel spikes from my hands, and it hurt.

Where was Creed? 'Mate missing!' something deep in the back of my skull echoed.

Wasn't I supposed to meet him someplace? ...Last year? Creed knew where the 'Prophesy' was. We'd used it for a safe-house often enough in the past. He should have come looking for me by now. ...Unless THEY'D captured him too.

That had to be it. He would have made the check-in by now if he was free. Someone would have contacted me if he was dead, so THEY had him, and as much as I hated the thought, I had to go back...

Fall when they'd captured me the first time. Winter when I'd escaped. It was nearly Summer now.

How much time had I lost?

I left that night.

I got to the woods, and started walking.

I found it.

They died.

I was in./

* * *

Alone with Xavier in his office the next day, Logan found himself staring out the window. It was a nice view, but it didn't destroy the mahogany-cave feel of the study behind him. Probably not accidental. Logan wasn't psychic, but he knew the feeling of eyes on his back, and he could almost hear Professor X mentally sorting through lines with which to break the ice.

"Xavier, I'm old enough to have seen you born. Let's skip the bullshit, shall we?" Logan said, still facing the window.

"All right," Xavier agreed. The wheelchair glided over to the window until he was about six feet off of Logan's elbow, and stopped. "Why did you come to see me?"

"I owe you."

"Fair enough."

"You put my head back together when I really needed it, and I'm thankin' you."

Xavier nodded. He could mention that he'd only been able to work with the puzzle pieces that Logan was able to remember, and that he'd left the job half-finished as a result, but both men already knew it.

"I guess what I came to tell you is that, it's done. You worry about the X-Men. They're your children, and don't deny it. Me, though... maybe I just needed a vacation from bein' an old man. I've been your student, and you're a hell of a teacher. Now I think it's time for me ta be your friend instead."

"You always were," Xavier told him.

"You know what I mean."

Xavier could feel the mind standing beside him, almost see the layers, like strata in a rock face. There were still cracks, fissures filled with darkness and fog, but the structure, the ultimate design was now clear. Logan was over a hundred years old, and some of his coping mechanisms now made a lot more sense.

"Does this mean I can call you out on the acting?" Xavier asked, impishly.

"Eh?"

"Well, the first time I saw it was when you started using an eye patch in Madripoor. That was from 'The Year of Living Dangerously', am I right?"

"Ouch."

"Thought so. You built the cabin because of the one in Thoreau's book-"

"Changed the floor plans a little, and I had ta put both windows in the front wall because the snow had the whole back half buried by October," Logan reflected.

"And you traveled to Japan in the nineteen fifties because-" Xavier began.

"All right, all right. What's yer point?"

"...Why do you do this?"

"It passes the time. 'Sides, if I forget something... Well, I can always read it again."

"Mnemonic memory triggers," Xavier nodded, understanding. They didn't always work, though... Was that why Logan read so much whenever he was looking for himself? ...Because that was literally what he was doing?

"Logan you've asked me to speak candidly. About Sabretooth, I will. I think you're making a mistake, and I think you -know- that."

"Thanks fer the vote o' confidence," Wolverine deadpanned.

"I'm not joking," Xavier cautioned, annoyed. /Creed has a lot to answer for/ he added, telepathically.

"I know," Logan said, to both.

"Just tell me this wasn't about Kyle Gibney."

"It ain't."

* * *

Wolverine wouldn't be frightened by an us-or-them ultimatum the way most X-Men would. Especially now, and Xavier knew it. There was not a damn thing he could do but wait, and it -killed- him. Sabretooth... dear God. There was a reason most telepaths steered clear of Creed's mind. The urge to give Logan's thoughts a much-needed nudge felt like a grain of sand in an oyster. Sabretooth hadn't used any of the codes, though...

"Very well. Good luck, Logan," Professor X offered his hand, and Wolverine shook it.

"I -HATE- you!" Kyle was crouched on the end of the examination table, glaring at Beast with solid yellow-white eyes.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but Logan is your father you know."

"I'm TWENTY-SIX, you sonofabitch! Who the hell gave you the right to look that stuff up anyway?!"

"I asked," Beast told Kyle flatly. His implication was that the security breach hadn't occurred at his end, but the important part of his words was the steady and powerful LOOK that accompanied it. Furred and fanged as he was, Beast had enough of a feral side that he understood what to do with Kyle. Beast might not be a 'pack leader' himself, but he'd be damned if he'd take abuse from this stripling 'pup'. Besides, if he went back on his decision, that would only make Kyle feel insecure. "If you really want to know, your records aren't the only open ones."

"How can they DO that?" Kyle demanded.

"It's an optional clause in the contract that many government-sponsored super-teams use."

He had him. Kyle's last Alpha Flight papers had been signed when he was eighteen, and while he COULD read by then, it was clear from the crestfallen look on Kyle's face that he hadn't been able to get through it all.

"That's not fair..." Kyle said, drawing his knees up against his chest.

"Want me to show you where it is?"

"Yeah," Kyle growled.

Beast brought up the Alpha Flight legalese on the main monitor screen, and showed Kyle what he was talking about. Kyle cursed fluently in both French and English.

Beast smiled inwardly. Definitely developmental rather than cognitive. Finally, Kyle sighed and turned to Beast. "-Alright, Dr. National Enquirer, can you fix this? Seal my records, so nobody except us has access, I mean?"

"Yes."

"Do it."

"Very well..." Beast typed a few things.

"What about Fragile X? Is that fixable?" Kyle asked.

"Let me see how you are now, and I'll see what I can do," said Beast.

"Ah-huh," Kyle looked at the various medical equipment in the room suspiciously, "-what do you want me to do?" The young mutant's eyes went back to blue-with-centers.

"See that tape measure over there on the wall?"

"Yes."

"Stand up straight in front of it."

"Oh."

* * *

Beast noticed Kyle comparing his old file photograph to his new one on the main monitor. Kyle had looked very Human in the old one, and he was pictured wearing his old red-and-gray Alpha Flight uniform. Today Kyle was wearing an olive-drab tank top, and a loose pair of blue jeans with lots of unnecessary-looking extra pockets and loops. Most of the loops had things tied to them, like feathers, a strip of torn purple cloth, or yellow caution tape. One loop sported a large shark tooth, tied up carefully in copper electrical wire. Kyle's hair, shoulder-length in the photograph, was a foot or so longer now, tied back in a sketchy ponytail.

With all of this, the main differences were still in his face. With his fangs visible, Kyle's mouth actually looked less strange. The shape made sense. His ears didn't have true points, but like Creed's ears, they had a bit of a corner to them. He had a clean, sharp jaw line that promised to turn heavy and unbreakable later, scrappy sideburns, a small, down-angled nose, thick eyebrows, and wide blue eyes that could go from round and puppyish to slitted and dangerous in zero-point-two seconds.

"D'you think I'm gonna change much? Like I did from that picture, I mean?"

"I have no way to ascertain that. You'll have to take your chances with the rest of us."

Beast pulled up a team roster gallery for the X-Men. They were better than driver's license caliber, but not by much. Nightcrawler looked especially goofy.

Beast switched to a different screen, and reviewed Kyle's genetic scan. He'd thought nothing could top Logan's DNA for anomalies, but he was wrong. While the basic shape was similar to Creed and Logan's DNA, there were unaccountably bizarre deviations, not even close to the rest of the pattern. They were mostly inactive, though.

This, Beast realized, had to be the remains of all the genetic patchwork that had gone into Kyle over the years. Wire's DNA, whatever it took to suppress a Mutant healing factor, a few strips of normal Human DNA, some he didn't recognize at all, and one patch McCoy could have sworn looked like it had come from the wolf-like 'Hunter in Darkness'.

What a genetic road-accident. That explained the god-awful physical shifts that had always plagued the young Mutant.

The good news was, Kyle's healing factor had won. From the tattered look of the DNA grafts, All Kyle's native DNA had needed to achieve this victory was to be left alone for a while with his healing factor at full adult strength. Beast had known that Logan's healing factor could repair radiation-damaged DNA, but he'd never seen ANYTHING like this.

The occasional repeating stutter-pattern of Fragile X damage had also been repaired a little, but that was going much more slowly, since it was probably harder for Kyle's body to identify as a problem. It might never go away completely.

Still...

"Kyle, you're going to love this."

"What?"

Beast explained.

"Holy SHIT. I can do that?" Kyle exclaimed.

"Apparently. And to answer your earlier question, it appears as though you WILL look as you do now for quite some time. None of the other potential patterns are still strong enough to compete."

" 'Bout fucking time," Kyle muttered, "-I, um... I'm gonna go now."

"Okay. Take care," said Beast, giving Kyle a fang-filled smile.

Kyle nodded, not trusting his voice, and left.

* * *

It was too much. Kyle left the mansion, slipped out of sight behind a stand of small maple trees, and started running. He was nearly back to Salem Center before he slowed down. Logan wouldn't worry about him. Kyle knew he'd left a trail a five-year-old Human could follow.

He scaled the trunk of a tall oak tree with his claws, and found a niche between three of the higher branches. Then he put his head down on his folded arms, and cried for what felt like a very long time. Kyle couldn't have said why.

He stayed in the tree all afternoon, watching squirrels.

* * *

Around sunset, Kyle spotted something he didn't expect, which was his father. Creed had crossed Kyle's trail some ways back, and followed it here. What he was doing out in the woods when he was supposed to be back in town, Kyle didn't know. He was going to be found any minute now, but- -Kyle wiped his eyes off carefully on his sleeve, just in case.

And... there. Creed spotted Kyle in the treetop. Kyle didn't seem likely to come down any time soon, so Creed climbed up into the tree himself.

The last branch he trusted with his weight put him on eye level with Kyle's shoulder. "Hey!"

Kyle looked over at him, with a kind of confused apprehension.

"You feral, or what?" Creed asked, seriously.

Kyle shook his head. He couldn't explain this. Not to somebody who didn't know there had been anything wrong with him in the first place.

"Look," Creed complained, "I can't just go get Logan every time you're pissed, ya know?"

Kyle shook his head, not speaking.

"You're very quiet."

Kyle looked back at him steadily.

"That tends ta retard conversation," Creed hinted.

Kyle shrugged.

"You're -really- not helping."

Kyle looked uncomfortable.

"Okay. You wanna do silent, I can do silent," Creed reached over and picked up Kyle, sitting him down again on the branch he was standing on. Kyle let him do it, more shocked into immobility than anything else. Creed crouched next to Kyle on the branch, hands on Kyle's shoulders, and sniffed him carefully. Kyle stayed very, VERY still. He'd crossed a line somewhere, and Creed was clearly pi-

/Oh. My. God.../

Creed was cleaning the top half of Kyle's face with his tongue. It was a business-like process, like that of a lion licking it's cub. Kyle closed his eyes quickly. He couldn't believe this.

It was disturbing as hell initially, but... yeah, okay.

Creed finished with Kyle's ears, sniffed him once more, and drew back.

Kyle opened his eyes, feeling very embarrassed. ...And somewhat damp. And as nice as that had been, he KNEW Creed had just done it for the shock value.

"Uh..."

"Hah! You do talk!"

"'Course I talk," Kyle muttered.

"Why didn' ya talk before?"

"I dunno."

"You wanna go home now?" Creed asked.

"Home?" Kyle echoed, carefully.

"Yeah, home. Somethin' wrong with you, boy?" Creed laughed.

Snap.

/He has NO right. HE, who could have saved me from ALL OF IT from the Evil Empire on down. HE, who never came looking for me. He FOUND me, goddamn it!

Kill him.

Why didn't he keep me?

_Gene trash. Trash gets left outside._

Logan's written me off a couple'a times, but LOGAN always comes BACK.

_Wolf._

Victor Creed.

_Sabretooth._

My father.

_Interloper. Obstacle. Dangerous._

He's playing nice with me now, but it's probably just so he can get Logan back. He doesn't have him yet, not really. Logan remembers.

_Logan bit YOU because Sabretooth bit HIM. Bite Sabretooth!_

Where the hell does HE get off ASKING if there's something wrong with me?!

_Bite him._

I've come too far for this. Logan-

_Logan will find you. Bite._

_Bite, and find out._

_Tear his face off with your teeth, and show the wolf._

I'll show him-

_Sabretooth./_

* * *

Kyle sprang. Creed brought an arm up quickly to catch Kyle's first biting attack, and landed a solid gut-punch with his other fist as Kyle reached him. For all his 'aww-kitty-scratch' jokes when they'd sparred at the beach house, Creed knew his son was dangerous.

Not only was Kyle dangerous, but he'd been holding back, maybe a little awed by the razor-tongued golden giant that was his father.

No more.

This was the creature who had earned Kyle his name. This was Wildchild.

Creed absorbed Kyle's first attack without a problem, but the branch beneath him didn't do as well. It broke, sending both of them crashing thirty feet down, past a thick branch that Kyle caught, and Creed passed on his way to the ground. Kyle whipped around the branch like a gymnast's bar, and landed on Creed claws-first. On the ground though, Kyle no longer had the advantage. Creed cuffed him across the side of the head, a blow that left Kyle's ears ringing. Kyle landed a double-hand slash across Creed's face angrily, cutting his skin to ribbons. Creed's eyes narrowed, one closing entirely, trickling blood from the outside corner.

"All right. You asked for it," Creed growled.

Creed grabbed Kyle by the throat, and slammed him into the ground, hard, holding him there.

Again.

Again.

Kyle felt the cartilage of his throat begin to buckle, and the crushed bone above his voice box felt sharp, like swallowing broken toothpicks. Creed threw Kyle overhand against the tree's sturdy trunk, and got to his feet, face crisscrossed by rapidly fading scars.

Kyle struck the tree sideways, tearing his shoulder a little on a short branch sticking out of the trunk. A foot lower, and it would have been in his ear.

Kyle pushed himself away from the tree, and leapt sideways on instinct. He'd been right. Creed had just torn a deep set of claw marks through the bark where he'd been leaning a moment ago.

Kyle crouched and pounced, trying to make it over Creed's head to his back. He'd seen Logan pull this off. Creed snagged him out of the air by his ankle, and swung him against the ground like a club. Kyle saw it coming, and brought a hand down between himself and the ground.

It worked. Kyle did what would have been a handspring if he hadn't been suspended upside-down, and kicked out of Creed's hold, opening a long gash on Creed's forearm.

Creed licked the wound once, tasting it.

Kyle glared at him murderously.

"This is becomin' a habit," Creed observed, with a strange lack of relish.

"Bleed..." hissed Kyle. He sprang again, but instead of going high he punched Creed under the chin, and used the force of it to stay low, tearing at his father's ribcage with his claws.

Creed clapped his palms together over both of Kyle's ears, breaking his eardrums. Kyle's world went silent. He tasted blood at the back of his throat, and it flooded his nose. Kyle screamed, and he couldn't hear a thing.

Then Creed bit his face, tearing skin right along his right eye socket, nearly taking the eyebrow off, flooding Kyle's vision with a world of red glass. It was a largely ineffective move, but it had the virtue of shock. While Kyle did things like that himself, nobody ever did them to HIM.

Creed landed both fists square on Kyle's shoulders, buckling him to his knees. Then he grabbed the front of Kyle's tank top, and head-butted him savagely. Kyle fell back, held off the ground only by Creed's grip on his shirt.

The fight was over.

At least, it would be if Creed didn't let Kyle up now.

Creed remembered the look in his older son Graydon's eyes when he'd realized he was beaten. Blind, stupid defiance. A last 'fuck you' to the world. A curse before dying.

-Graydon had assumed Creed would let him die.

No. Creed had wanted to know why a simple suit would want him dead so badly, and had let him live for that purpose. Birdy the telepath had shown him why, sparing Graydon's body the irreparable damage of letting Creed find out for himself.

And he had found out.

Mystique...

Beaten or not, Graydon was motivated, and he had a cause, and he had a knife.

And Birdie had died on that knife, simply because she gave Creed comfort. Because she could let him feel the glow, the kill, and no-one would have to die.

Graydon HAD hurt him then, deeply, and it was perhaps for that reason that Creed had made the mistake of letting him live, and worse, letting Graydon believe that he had won.

That was the key, wasn't it.

Kyle had to believe Creed could kill him, or he'd become a monster like Graydon had.

Kyle had to believe he could die.

Creed dropped Kyle to the ground, knelt with one knee on either side of Kyle's chest, and started hitting him, one fist, then the other.

Kyle's healing factor was strong.

It took a while.

* * *

Kyle woke up to the sensation of cold water flooding his lungs. He choked, and tried to get to the surface, mere inches above his face.

No. A hand was there. A very big hand, that held him underwater by the top of his hair.

Kyle fought, and he lost.

He blacked out.

It felt like only a second or two, and Kyle was awake again, lying on his stomach in the grass with one knee drawn up under him, coughing up water. The air tasted great. The water was in some kind of corrugated metal tub, and on the ground in front of him, Kyle saw hoof prints in the soft mud. He coughed up the rest of the water, and stayed down, looking at the glistening hoof prints in wonder. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

Broken grass stems, green. Mud, chocolate-brown and filled with a thousand tiny grains of sand. Crystal cold water flowing away into the earth. Kyle felt something slimy beneath his nose, and his fingers found a strip of cold blood coagulating there. He wiped his nose off with his hand. It had definitely been broken, but it was healing. Kyle got to his knees, and looked around. He was alone. A couple of horses at the other end of the field watched him with ambivalent mistrust.

-Donk, donk.-

Kyle looked over quickly in the direction of the faint sound, and found Creed leaning on the water-trough a short distance away, a stalk of grass in the corner of his mouth. The noise had been Creed's knuckles hitting the side of the trough. Kyle couldn't hear much of anything subtle yet, not even the chewing of the horses. Creed wasn't looking at him. Creed's yellow and black plaid sleeves, rolled up to the elbows, were wet all the way to the shoulder.

Kyle thought about this.

At length, Creed looked down at him, walked over, and offered Kyle his hand.

Kyle seriously considered biting it off.

Then he took it, and stood, eyes locked with his father's.

It was not a gentle gaze.

Kyle might well fight Creed again in the future. He would do it only with good reason, and only then with much more careful planning. But he might.

It would take a lot more than a moment of blood-lust and angst to make him try again, though.

Kyle had not known his father long, but he got the impression Creed only taught this lesson once.

* * *

When Logan got back to the motel that night, he heard the shower running. He'd followed Kyle's trail from the mansion and found the tree, the bloody ground underneath, then only Creed's foot prints, and then the water trough.

Two sets of footprints lead away from it.

Logan didn't know what had started the fight, but he knew Creed had finished it, and he knew that both Creed and Kyle had had done their share of ripping and tearing. There was a trash bag beside the door, containing tattered, bloody clothes. Kyle was asleep on the couch facing the door, wrapped in a blanket he'd pulled off one of the two beds in the room. Kyle smelled as if he'd showered before curling up there. He looked exhausted. The only light on in the room was a sixty-watt bulb in a wall fixture, on the far wall.

Logan shut the door behind him softly, and took a seat at the table beside the light. Setting the blue file-folder McCoy had given him down on the table between the phone and the ashtray he lit a cigar, then opened the file's jacket to the first page, and started reading.

Somewhere around page nineteen, the water in the bathroom shut off.

* * *

Logan closed the file, and lit a second cigar from the end of the first. Creed passed by Logan with an absent glance, and dug through his duffel bag until he located a yellow and brown checked flannel and a pair of white sweat pants. He leaned against the wall near the light, arms folded.

"What's in the file?" Creed asked, noticing the blue folder.

"Kyle's got a hell of a medical history. McCoy gave me some background on it," Logan explained.

"Mmh," Creed eyed the file unenthusiastically. Logan passed him the cigar like a doobie, and Creed smoked it for a while. "He tried to kill me," Creed said finally, handing Logan the cigar back, "-this's the second time one o' my boys has tried ta kill me. I don't mean like the, 'I want attention, so I'll piss ya off' kind of tries, either. I'm talkin' sincere, motivated attempts."

"Learn anythin' from the first one?" Logan asked.

"Oh yeah," Creed nodded, reclaiming the cigar, "...not to let that kind o' &# pass."

"If I said you'd been lookin' for an excuse ta break Kyle from day one...?"

"I'd say you were wrong."

"Good," said Logan, "-then I don't have to ask."

They looked at each other warily for a moment, then looked away in different directions.

"I dunno what's in that file," Creed pointed at the offending papers, "-but you ain't givin' Kyle ta McCoy."

"You know me better than that." Logan replied.

"An' you know ME better than ta ask if I'd break Kyle for the hell of it," Creed snapped.

"Do I?"

"Go wash. You smell like the X-Men."

The pause was colder this time, and they didn't look at each other.

Finally Creed felt Logan's fingers close around his wrist. Logan didn't seem to have any purpose in having done this, he just held it there.

/I finally got him to want me.../ Creed thought with a carefully hidden grin, /-he'll never say it, o' course, but I got 'im. This is my game now./

"Logan, let go a' my hand," Creed said, coolly. Logan looked up at him, questioningly. Creed whisked his wrist free, inspected it for a moment, then looked over at the back of the couch where Kyle was sleeping. "Only time I've tried ta break a son o' mine was a false memory. Waszat what you saw under the oak tree, runt? Yourself younger than ya were when we met, an' me with a belt in my hand?"

Logan didn't answer him.

"That memory did give me one thing- -no, two. I never saw you back then. All soft brown eyes, an' daydreamin' behind the woodshed, stuff you just knew was gonna come true some day... That really WAS you, wasn' it?" Creed goaded, "-when ya get to thinkin' about it though, why would Psi-Borg use the picture o' me beatin' the shit out o' you to bring me down, if that's what I woulda done anyway? Don't make much sense, does it?"

"You expect everything ta change in a few months?" Logan asked.

"Fine. I'm goin' ta bed, an' I'm leavin' in the morning. Sweet dreams," Creed reached past Logan to the ashtray, and put out the end of his cigar.

"Bullshit," Logan whispered.

"What was 'at?" Creed demanded.

"You heard me."

"Logan, I heard but I d-"

"Don' give me this reverse-psychology crap. I'm not th' one who's been trackin' ME for twenty-odd years. Ya need ta hear it? Fine. I want you to stay. What're you gonna do with that?"

Creed opened his mouth to snarl something back, then thought for a moment and closed it, glaring at Logan.

"I say ya don't have enough of yer brain hooked together ta know when ya got a good thing goin'. -An' I'm still goin' ta bed."

And he did.

* * *

Logan stayed up for another hour, but his mind wasn't on the pages he read. He closed the file, sat quietly on the carpet beside the couch where Kyle was sleeping, and watched his son.

Kyle slept without dreams this night, and a pale strip of hair that had fallen beneath his nose wavered with the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Kyle was home.

/I don't belong here/ thought Logan. It had taken him years to see things about Kyle that Creed had cracked in weeks. Creed might be amoral as hell, but he knew his own, and he'd never leave Kyle now, not really. Even if Kyle's choices meant he had to do it from the sidelines, Creed would be there. /I succeeded/ Logan thought, /I reunited Creed with his son before it was too late for either of 'em. Why don't I feel better about that? How come I think of Kyle as Creed's son, but not mine?/

Logan reached over, and tucked the wisp under Kyle's nose back with the rest of his hair. Kyle's nose twitched a little, and he turned his face towards Logan's hand searchingly. Logan scratched the bridge of Kyle's nose lightly, and smoothed the faint lines of concern between the boy's eyebrows with the side of his thumb. Kyle relaxed, and slipped back below the surface of his dreams.

/Why can I do THAT, and still feel like-/

"Logan?" Creed said, in the direction of the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Why're you still awake?"

"Been doin' some thinking."

"Mnnrrrrrr. Come ta bed already," Creed grumbled, sleepily.

"I'm not keepin' you up," said Logan.

"Fine. Sleep onna floor. See if I care."

Logan thought about that. The words were wrong, but if they'd been right, Creed wouldn't have spoken in the first place.

Neither of them had the vocabulary for this.

Logan shucked his clothes, and joined Creed in the bed near the back wall. Creed put an arm around him without comment, and they slept.

* * *

Kyle woke up very hungry. He dug briefly through his backpack, and came up with a black 'Captain Crash' t-shirt, and a pair of green overalls. After a moment's thought, he searched in the trash bag with his clothes from the day before, and retrieved the shark tooth, pocketing it.

Now, food.

Kyle took the trash bag of bloody clothes out to the motel dumpster, then looked around. It was quiet. A beehive in the bushes by the parking lot was launching the day's first flight, and- -ooo, pancakes... Kyle followed his nose. It ended a block away down by highway thirty, at a diner. Kyle went in, unconsciously slipping his clawed hands into his pockets, and took a booth by the window. The waitress gave him an unfriendly appraising glance anyway, and Kyle decided to ignore this. Preppies usually did that to rock-n-roll grunge types, Mutant or not.

It took about sixty seconds from the time Kyle's waitress disappeared into the back for the inevitable debate to start.

"-Weirdo at my table. He's like, wolf boy or something."

"Candice, I don't wanna fucking hear it," said a second female voice.

"Is this guy making any trouble?" a male voice asked.

"No, but-" began the first voice.

"Then do your job, and get the man some coffee," the third voice cut her off.

"He's a Mutant. It's like, written all over him. And every time I see one of them, things get blown up. I'm not dealing with this."

"He doesn't look like a mutant to me..." a fourth voice put in, doubtfully.

"That's 'cause you're looking at him from the -back-," the first voice retorted.

"You are such a gutless wonder," the second voice sighed disgustedly, to the first. "Spence, I'll take this table, just shut her up, please?"

"Me-yow," observed the first voice, relieved but still trying to save face.

"Bitch," muttered the second voice, under her breath. There was a rustle of paper as Kyle's order changed hands.

She-who-hates-Candice showed up a minute later with a tall glass of orange juice. She looked tired, around college-age, and her eyeliner was a little too heavy for the morning sun. Her dark hair was short, and Kyle smelled a hint of spiking gel in it, though it was unremarkably styled at the moment.

"Hi, I'm Mills. I'm replacing Candice, who had to go powder her nose. Any objections?" Mills recited.

"Nope," Kyle shook his head, smiling at her before he remembered how scary his teeth looked when he did that. Mills put the orange juice down. "-Thanks," Kyle said, hoping she hadn't noticed. Mills was cute, in an 'Empire Records' punk sort of way, and he thought she'd recognized the band on his shirt. If he still looked Human, he would be thinking of ways to ask her out, not wondering whether Candice had run off to call the cops. Damn it all.

And he'd screwed up BAD yesterday.

Well... ...hadn't he? Creed hadn't made a big deal out of the fight, he'd just said, "Don't do it again or I'll kill you," in a very specific and hands-on language that both Kyle and Wildchild understood.

Logan, on the other hand... He had to know about the fight by now. As if they hadn't left enough signs at the foot of the tree, Creed had no reason to keep it to himself. Kyle hadn't even thought to ask him to.

What was Logan going to think of all this? ...Nobody was dead, that was a plus. That was always a plus... But he had lost control again, and he'd lost it bad. Still, even Wolverine lost control sometimes, or at least he used to. And Creed -was- one of a very short list of people who could handle either him OR Wolverine in a full-on feral rage.

Being Wildchild was a strange thing. No beast of the forest hated or killed as Kyle did when he lost control, but no man acted as he did either. Kyle's rages were the worst part of both man and beast, an unholy carbon-steel edge that distorted his face like a carnival mirror.

Creed had taken Kyle's rage in stride, treating it like the child's tantrum he saw it to be.

Kyle wasn't sure if he had really intended to kill his father yesterday or not. He had an unclear mental picture of wanting to tear Creed's face off with his teeth, but that had been an ideal, not a real expectation. What had he really been gunning for? ...And if you attack somebody you know you can't beat, is that really attempted murder, or just another way of beating your fists against a wall? -This was complicated.

Wolverine had always been the hardest outside judge in Kyle's world, more because he actually cared about Logan's opinion than because Logan asked things of him that others didn't. The other Alphas could TELL Kyle what to do, but Logan would actually DO these things first himself, and then look back at Kyle as if to say, 'what's your excuse, bub?'

Logan really was the best, and it made him untouchable in more ways than one.

* * *

As Kyle's train of thought wandered, a man in a dark blue business suit on the other side of the diner watched him from behind a newspaper. Mills came back with breakfast, and Kyle almost got up the guts to ask her when her shift ended. Almost.

Mills went back into the kitchen, and came out with a cup of coffee and a paperback novel in hand. She sat at the long counter up front, pointedly ignoring the rest of the staff and any new customers coming in the front door.

Her shift already HAD ended, Kyle realized. He felt guilty for a moment, then angry. If Candice hadn't been such a wuss, Mills would already be on her way home by now.

/And what are you gonna do about it?/ Kyle asked himself, /add insult to injury by trying to hit on her?/

_Yes?_

/NO./

Mills came back ten minutes later, and asked if she could get him anything.

"You look bored," Kyle said. Mills glanced at him with a well-practiced 'I don't think so, Tim,' expression. "Uh... Right," Kyle cleared his throat, "-how about you bring me the check now, and we'll let Candice get the dishes?"

"How did you know her name was Candice?" Mills asked, not missing a beat. Kyle glanced at the front of her blouse. No nametag. She sure had nice- /Girl. Face. Now/ Kyle reminded himself. He looked back up at Mills's eyes.

"I..." Kyle tucked part of his hair behind his slightly pointed right ear, "-heard."

"Oh. Okay, that's cool," Mills nodded.

"'Sometimes you can hear 'em talk, other times you can't...'" Kyle quoted, wryly.

"'You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode...'" Mills quoted the line before his, carefully. "What's that from, Roadhouse Blues?"

"I think so..." /Actually I can't remember, but that sounds good.../

"Tres classic," decided Mills.

"What are you reading?" Kyle pointed to her book.

"Lord of the Rings," Mills shrugged. "You know, 'what has it got in it's pocketsesss?' and all that." Kyle fished around in his pocket, pulled out the shark tooth, and placed it on the counter by Mills's leaning hand. Her eyes widened, and Kyle caught a scent of fear. Too late, he remembered that he hadn't cleaned the blood of yesterday's fight off of it yet.

"It's mine," Kyle said, quickly.

"Um. I can see that..." Mills agreed, warily.

"-The blood, I mean. It's mine. I'm sorry, I- -I didn't mean to scare you."

"Are you still hurt?" Mills asked. On the surface it was a simple question of concern, but if he said 'no', she'd know he'd been lying, and if he said yes, she'd want to bandage him up or something.

"Nah, it was just a nosebleed. I got into it with my old man yesterday, and uh, you know," Kyle dipped the shark tooth in the bottom of his orange juice, and cleaned it off with a napkin.

"Right..." Mills said, unconvinced.

Kyle passed her the shark tooth again. She picked it up for a moment, studying the minute sawtooth pattern on it's edge, then gave it back to him.

"Definitely cool," she nodded, "-but, um, that was a little weird."

There was an awkward pause.

"Then maybe you should get the check," Kyle sighed.

"Okay," Mills dipped into the pocket of her apron, and passed it to him. As he was getting out money, Kyle saw a traveling businessman across the room stand, fold up his newspaper, and pick up an attaché case. Kyle knew the way dangerous people moved, and the suit across the room was dangerous. His attaché case had looked harder to pick up than a normal briefcase, too.

The suit was coming this way. Kyle got out of the booth, and interposed himself between Mills and the approaching man quickly.

"Don't bother with a hostage. I'll shoot right through her," the suit warned Kyle, in a quiet, cultured Spanish accent. Mills looked from the Spaniard to Kyle, and decided Kyle was less likely to kill her. She stayed where she was, behind him. No-one else in the restaurant had noticed anything.

"Outside," Kyle ordered.

"Oh, really?" The Spaniard looked at him, bemused, "-why?"

"Because you're a professional," Kyle guessed, "-and so am I."

"You think this is a duel? That you can choose when and where you die?"

"Why not?" Kyle spread his hands.

"For the sake of the lady," the Spaniard agreed, nodding to Mills formally. She shuddered. He put on a dark blue fedora, and walked out.

"Do you even know that guy?" Mills asked Kyle, in disbelief.

"Nope," said Kyle. He put a five and a ten under the check.

"That's it? I mean, why don't you call the cops or-" she was almost babbling.

"A Mutant and an assassin are fighting in an alley," Kyle said simply, "-who wants this call?"

"Oh. Right," Mills said, quietly.

"Wish me luck," Kyle winked at her, a flicker of unexpected white over the normal blue of his right eye.

"This is for making him go outside," said Mills, and she kissed him.

/Luck. That's good. Definitely. I-I mean.../ Kyle thought.

"No problem. Heh."

Candice, standing behind the counter with coffee pot in hand, watched the exchange in disbelief.

* * *

Kyle opened the door, and walked out. He reached out with his senses, gathering as much information as he could. He didn't know why this hit man had been set on him, but it didn't really matter. He had to assume that his enemy knew what his powers were. The Spaniard might not know, but better safe than sorry. -There.

Up by the front wheel of an ancient Buick in the parking lot, Kyle saw movement. Nothing else, though. He considered the other man's scent.

Very little emotion, and only a hint of fear. European cologne. Leather lotion. Gun oil. Clove cigarettes. The faint electrolyte tang of battery acid.

Battery acid?

A chemical weapon, maybe?

Kyle would have gotten into the bushes and snuck up behind the guy, but the Spaniard had already seen him, and he was walking towards Kyle across the parking lot. This was it.

Fine. Fuck it. A duel then, old west style. /-In the parking lot of a roadside diner. I better not lose.../ Kyle thought. They stopped twelve feet away from each other, and stood tensed, waiting for the draw.

The Spaniard's left hand snapped open at the wrist as if it had been cut off, and a pair of thick, barbed needles shot out, attached to wires. A custom-mounted taser, from the smell of ozone. Kyle's claws flashed, and he tore the wires out of the man's wrist-housing. That cost him a few seconds' worth of electric shock, but he took it. The Spaniard palmed a knife from his other sleeve, one with a glass cartridge in the center of the blade, filled with translucent white liquid. Kyle parried the knife's first attack with his claws, and yanked the Spaniard's arm forward before he could recover. Kyle twisted right, bit the assassin's wrist deeply, and cracked his left elbow up against the side of the man's head, hard. The Spaniard went down. The vial-loaded dagger broke it's glass filament when it hit the pavement, and the milky liquid inside smelled like drugs. Kyle crouched warily beside the downed assassin, and listened for any more. Nothing. The Spaniard was still out.

Kyle spat on the pavement, and wiped the blood off of his mouth on the shoulder of the Spaniard's jacket. Kyle dragged the Spaniard out of sight into the bushes, and tied him up with taser wire and the man's own belt. This accomplished, Kyle went looking for a phone. Getting a trussed and wounded man back to the motel unseen during the day would be next to impossible. Kyle didn't have to risk it, so he didn't. He didn't want to go back in the diner to use the phone, either. Not before he knew whether he had any more blood on him. There was a gas station across from the diner, and Kyle used a payphone there, keeping an ear on the silent bushes where he'd stashed the assassin.

* * *

"Talk," said Creed, sleepily.

"Dad?" Kyle said, a lot more searchingly than he'd planned for it to sound.

"Where are you?" Creed demanded.

"Down at the seventy-six station by highway thirty. I'm okay."

"Why are you calling?"

"I just had to take out an assassin," said Kyle.

"Hey, that's great!" Creed congratulated him.

"I need, uh- -I need a ride home. I've got the guy on ice so we can question him, but he's a little messy."

"Wait- -you didn' kill 'im?" said Creed.

"No, I want to find out who sent him," Kyle explained.

"Huh. Okay, sit tight and make sure he don't get loose. I'll find you," Creed promised.

"Right," Kyle nodded. The phone went dead, and Kyle hung up.

Going back to where he'd hidden the assassin, Kyle got a nasty surprise. The man was stone dead. Belatedly, Kyle realized he should have wrapped the guy's torn-up wrist before going off to find a phone. Shit. Oh well, the bastard HAD tried to kill him...

Kyle sighed, sat down on the dead body as if it was a fallen log, and waited for Creed to show up.

* * *

Logan inspected the assassin's body critically. Professional and stupid. Bad combination. Also one that didn't last very long. He went through the pockets, and found a wallet in the coat.

It held a driver's license, credit cards, a fortune cookie paper that read, 'your luck will change tomorrow', a hundred and twenty bucks in twenties, a length of crumpled black lace that looked like it had been torn off of a ladies' slip, and a folded sheet of computer paper.

"Hey..."

"What have you got?" Creed read the paper over Logan's shoulder, "-That little snake! He's not supposed ta print a contract out, that gives away the website! I woulda killed 'im myself if I'd known about this."

"Wait a minute, somebody put out a CONTRACT on me...?" Kyle looked up sharply.

"Nope," Creed grinned, "somebody put out a contract on ME."

"Any way of knowing who?" Logan asked, "-we both know hackers who would take this job."

"Already tried that," said Creed, "-all I get is cyber-cafes and public access terminals. Nobody accesses this place through their own account. -It would give us a place to start, though," he went a short distance away, and called somebody on his cell phone.

"Now what?" Kyle asked, looking at the dead hit man unhappily.

"What do you usually do with dead bodies?" Logan replied, watching Kyle's reaction carefully without seeming to.

"Um... dump them out in the woods, mostly. Sometimes I just left them there. ...This is a trick question, isn't it," Kyle realized.

"Oh, yeah."

"What would you do with this one? Call Fury and tell him we need a cleanup crew?"

"Nope," said Logan.

"What, then?"

"Where d'you touch him?"

"Just the wrists, if you mean fingerprints. I'm not sure it matters. A lot of people saw him talk to me in the restaurant, and once he turns up dead..."

"Well, that's a problem," Logan admitted, "-car battery trick won't work on a whole body..."

"I hate this," Kyle stated, "-it's not even eight AM yet, and I'm thinking about whether or not a dead man-" Kyle broke off, disgusted. /I should go to the cops/ Kyle thought, /It's not like I trust cops, but I do have a witness that he picked a fight with me and not the other way around. Except... I don't want to bring Mills into this, and they'd want her to act as a witness. They'd show her pictures of the dead body, and ask her if it was the same guy, and- -no. I guess I can stash one more without going mad.

I'm not like this. Really.

_Yeah, that's why I can taste his blood on the back of my tongue..._

HE TRIED TO KILL ME!

I can't let that- -I mean...

_Logan's enjoying this. Rubbing the past in my face, as if he thinks I don't remember it._

He's always done that.

Why can't he just tell me what to do with the body? Whatever he said to do, I'd do it, just...

Don't make me choose. Don't make me make this up. Don't make me remember that I already know how.

...Tell me again./

* * *

"Does Professor X know about this?" Kyle asked, suddenly.

"Wha- -No, not that I know of. Why should he?"

"Well... he could, right?"

"Truth is, I don't know. If Xavier was focusing on you when it happened, then yeah, he knows. You gotta think motive, though. It's a big world. If you're the most interestin' guy for him to eves-drop on, then it's been a slow week," Wolverine pointed out.

"So he does go looking into other people's thoughts," Kyle scowled.

"Like I said kid, I don't know. No one CAN, really. The Chuck I know wouldn't just go head-cruisin' for the heck of it."

"Did you ever let him..." Kyle tapped his forehead.

Wolverine nodded.

"Xavier's like a lighthouse. You can sort of see the beam most of the time, but if he focuses on you, it's like he's right there talkin'."

"And you let him?" Kyle blurted out.

"Yes I did."

"Why?"

"I can smell a rat, an' I trust Xavier for the same reason I trust Michael Twoyoungmen. I never know HOW they do what they do, but I know what side they're ON."

"I get that," Kyle decided.

* * *

The assassin rode with them until just after the Pennsylvania border, and was ditched in the Allegheny National Forest. Creed hosed out the back of his truck at a gas station, and they moved on. Ohio, Indiana, and finally to Chicago. Kyle had been there before, of course. The buildings were too tall for his taste, and the traffic was almost as bad as New York city. Good pizza, though...

Creed liked Chicago. He'd first come here in the early nineteen twenties, just as rag was giving way to jazz, whiskey was smuggled (profitable, that...), and the girls were learning how to smoke.

He'd never quite gotten over jazz.

Chicago still had a thriving music scene, though the music itself had changed. Kyle ran into some rock musicians he knew at an underground basement club, and said he was going to take off for a few days. Creed made him get a cell phone first. He tried to talk Logan into buying one too, but got nowhere.

Being on the same special ops team meant that they were supposed to stay more or less in contact with each other, even off-duty. Logan took full advantage of this, and told Kyle to call in every day at or before sunset. Kyle knew that was technically over the top, but he agreed without mentioning it. -For one thing, the contract on Creed's life hadn't been withdrawn, and despite their gymnast-versus-linebacker size difference, he'd been mistaken for Creed once already.

Across the street and two floors up, a young Chinese woman was watching them from the balcony of a restaurant. She had a large artist's scroll case slung over one shoulder, which would contain a weapon, if she was the next assassin. Logan was in no mood for this.

Creed exchanged glances with him. He'd seen her too, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Logan started walking, and followed the scent of grass cuttings to a park four blocks away. It was smaller than he would have liked, only about a block square, but there were enough trees at the South end to allow a minor altercation to go unnoticed.

Logan found a wooden park bench overshadowed by some cottonwood trees, and sat, hands shoved in his pockets. Creed joined him, draping his arms over most of the back of the bench.

"You know what?" Creed began.

"What?" Logan asked, testily.

"I'm bored."

"Huh," Logan snorted.

"Yer thinkin' again. We've discussed this," Creed admonished.

"Remember when I killed you?"

"Claw-through-brain ventilation? Yeah, I remember that," Creed nodded, with a degree of grudging respect.

"Did you think I was gonna do it, or not?"

"Nah. Didn' think there was enough o' you left in there."

"I really did want you dead right then," Logan stated.

"I know."

"Ya don't seem bothered."

"You got angry," shrugged Sabretooth, "-that ain't new. Best reason ta kill there is."

"You really believe that, don't ya?" Logan looked at him sidelong.

"Beats the hell out o' killin' me 'cause somebody told you to," Creed pointed out.

"Do you want to die?" Logan asked.

"Nope. Don't plan on it, either."

Laying his head back against Creed's arm, Logan shut his eyes.

"Good."

* * *

The Chinese woman turned out to have friends. She hadn't been an assassin, just the scout. Sorting through the dead and semi-conscious ninjas littering the ground around the park bench, Logan couldn't find out a damn thing that they didn't already know. A reward had been posted on a certain website well known in professional assassin circles, and the ninjas had simply been sent to collect. It was maddening, and it was clearly also the reason the website existed.

The trail was cold from day one.

Unless...

The first assassin had shown up within days of their arrival in Westchester. Could the hit have been placed by someone in the X-mansion? It was a possibility that Logan couldn't ignore, especially given the number of enemies that Sabretooth had made there, first during the attack on the Morlocks, and later by nearly killing Psylocke. Any of the telepaths could have found out about the website, and Gambit had ties to the assassins' guild back in New Orleans, so he probably knew about it too.

Alpha flight couldn't be ruled out either, since they had an interest in both him and Kyle, and McCoy would have had to get Kyle's medical records from them in the first place.

Fury was a possibility, but it didn't taste right. Logan kept Fury in the back of his mind, but mostly ruled him out. Why take out a contract when he had all of S.H.I.E.L.D. at his disposal?

Kyle arguably had motive, but he didn't have the kind of money this hit had taken, and ditto for Jubilee. None of the surviving Morlocks had the capital for this little venture either.

Creed was hated by many, but who would hate him ENOUGH, that was the question...

Or maybe this wasn't about Creed. Wolverine had worried about endangering Wildchild by bringing the kid to the attention of his enemies, but -Sabretooth-?

'Endangering' was too strong a word.

Creed wasn't just surviving these attacks, he was enjoying them.

If somebody was trying to get to him by attacking Sabretooth, they were barking up the wrong straightjacket.

Hmm...

Creed might have even placed the hit himself, just for the entertainment.

And what about Yukio? The lithe Yakuza assassin wasn't big on sharing, and while she'd finally come to terms with the fact that he'd chosen Mariko Yashida over her, Yukio might not accept Sabretooth, a fellow assassin, with the same equanimity.

But if that was the case, Yukio would have come for Creed's life personally. Yukio was a woman of honor.

He was getting nowhere.

It was either someone he didn't know but Creed did, one of the X-Men, Creed himself, or a very powerful enemy, such as Mr. Sinister or Hydra. Logan felt comfortable narrowing it down that much, but the list of possibles was still too damn long.

* * *

Kyle woke up in an apartment with black light posters on the walls. Overhead, a red dragon pulverized a deep purple castle with fluorescent yellow banners flying from the towers. Across the room on the couch, Boris the drummer was still asleep, one arm dangling limply to the carpet. Corey, the bass guitarist, was hunched over the only table in the apartment, writing fitfully in a spiral-bound notebook and smoking a cigarette. Tam(...Tamara?)- -whose girlfriend was she again?- -was sleeping curled against Kyle, with her head on his arm. The girl was a pixie, with feathery short blonde hair, deep green eyes, and a carefully hidden Southern accent. They were not the only ones on the mattress. Boris's ragged white cat had taken a liking to Kyle as well, and was curled up against the side of his neck, purring.

A thin veil of pot smoke still hung in the air, but most of Boris's stash had already fallen prey to the air conditioner. Kyle's jeans felt stiff and slept-in.

Every so often, the sink dripped.

/A room full of strangers/ Kyle thought. The arm Tam's head was on had fallen asleep. Kyle yawned in Boris's cat's face, displaying his fangs. The white cat's ears flattened slightly. Kyle noticed a silver tag on the cat's collar, and turned it so he could read what it said. 'Zombie'. -It fit. Zombie blinked a few times, then yawned in Kyle's face, cavernously. Friskies, pastrami, and spilled beer did not mix.

Kyle gagged, and tactically withdrew. Zombie looked pleased, and started washing his face. Kyle made a mental note to chug a beer for ammunition later, and settle the score once and for all.

"Dude," Corey pointed at Kyle abruptly, "-song title. Now."

"Uh... A room full of strangers?" said Kyle. Corey snapped his fingers, looked doubtful for a moment, then nodded briskly.

"It'll work," he muttered around the end of his cigarette, and started writing again.

Tam moved in her sleep, turning over so Kyle couldn't see her face anymore. Her head stayed on his arm, though.

* * *

There was a wind up, the first taste of September. It carried papers and leaves, candy wrappers and dust. The sidewalk vendors were pissed. About one in ten was selling something besides what was on the fold-up tables, the exotic spice of drugs mostly, but one even stocked some kind of- -snf- -computer parts? It occurred to Creed that he would have made a hell of a cop. Did the CIA count? Maybe the SS.

Being in the CIA had made it a lot easier to hide his other hobbies, that was for sure...

Creed was killing time. The alternative had been following Logan into a dank little Japanese restaurant. Seaweed glop and wasabi. Ugh.

The runt was getting suspicious, but he hadn't quite figured out-

Creed's phone rang, and he pounced on it.

"Talk," he said, feigning disinterest.

"Oh, sorry," a female voice said, "I must have dialed a four instead of a one- -or was that a two?..."

The line went dead.

They had another mission.

Perfect.

-


	6. Ghosts of Rumika

Title: How's it Gonna Be?

Chapter 6: Ghosts of Rumika (final chapter)  
Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth  
Rating: NC-17/R  
Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.  
Notes: Takes place during the bone claw era. Sabretooth escaped from custody at the X-mansion as described in 'Red Zone', but in this timeline, he was never re-captured.  
Summary: On an island known for death, a new horror waits.

* * *

Chapter 6: Ghosts of Rumika

/Rumika/ Logan thought, bitterly. /Fury knows I don't want ta go back to that island. He also doesn't give a rat's ass what I want, if this is what needs to be done. And he's right, this needs to be done... but I still don't have ta like it.

Kyle sits across from me in the chopper, hands loosely around the top of his rifle's stock, carefully avoiding the delicate scope without conscious thought. His eyes are open and unafraid, pale yellow eyelids protecting against the glare of the South China Sea below us. He knows better than to try and talk over the storm of the rotors, or maybe he's got nothing to say.

The last time I came to Rumika, there was a village, there was life, but there was also a secret, and it drew a band of mercenaries who used child soldiers, working for something called 'the Lazarus project'. It drew Karma, Shan Coy Manh, and it drew me, even if I didn't remember why by the time I got there.

There were three survivors from that fracas.

Me, Karma, and a teenage soldier they called Target, whose name had been Teddy once.

Hell only knows what's waiting for us down there this time, whatever the intel says- -which isn't much. Something about unexplained surges of beta radiation, lights in the sky, weird readings on the satellite photos. The usual secret weapon bull. Our job is to find out what it is, and/or frag the thing. I'm hoping it's not another Mutant.

Creed cut his hair short for this op. It doesn't mean anything really, but I notice it, and I wonder.

Just after the pilot signals that we're approaching the drop zone, Kyle grins and offers me his hand, fingers out flat and palm downwards. It takes me a moment to figure out what he wants. I clasp Kyle's hand from underneath, which screws up his sports-huddle thing, but this ain't a game. Creed reaches over, closing his hand over both of ours. I doubt he'll admit to doing this later, and I wouldn't blame 'im one bit. We break, and get down to business.

Ten miles offshore, we drop the Zodiac boat, and rope down into it. The water around this island is teeming with sharks, never mind that they fish the heck out of them in nearby Madripoor bay. There's ALWAYS more sharks./

* * *

Rumika's shore was deceptively quiet at night, sharp spines of dark rock bordering soft, pale beaches. Just beyond, lush waist-high grass sloped up to meet the edge of the forest. Higher, steep mountain peaks were silhouetted against the night sky, not the glacier-carved saw-tooth profile of the Rockies but the raw, fresh spikes of volcanic Southeast Asia. There was a touch of wood smoke in the air from somewhere in the island's interior.

Logan thought of the way the firelight had moved on Karma's face while she watched the pyre he'd built burn.

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Logan helped Kyle haul the Zodiac up onto the beach and hide it behind some rocks. It was high tide now, so while the boat would be further away from the water on their return trip, at least they wouldn't lose it when the tide turned. If they had the opportunity to come back this way, that might be useful.

Creed had already left to scout further inland. Logan melted into the long grass above the beach, and Kyle followed him, keeping an eye on their back-trail. There was a lot of game on this island from the scent of things, mostly wild pigs and reptiles. Kyle felt something like a set of fangs close abruptly around the top of his ankle, pricking his skin through the tough leather of his boot.

Kyle slashed the creature off with his claws, flinging it away from him hard.

Creed, lying near-invisibly in the grass beside Kyle's feet, licked the cuts on the side of his hand, and looked up at Kyle pointedly. Kyle hadn't seen the ambush coming, but he hadn't given away their position by yelling in alarm either. A draw.

"Better luck next time, boy," Creed snorted.

"What have you found out?" Logan asked.

"We got a straight shot South to the mountains from here, but there's a ghost town just East o' the beach, and a firing range two clicks Southwest," Creed stood up, and tossed Logan a spent shell casing.

"Standard, all the way," Logan turned the casing around in his fingers, examining it.

"I smell something," Kyle cut in, peering off into the trees.

"What?" Creed tested the air himself.

"I'm not sure," said Kyle.

"Ozone..." Logan frowned, sniffing in the same direction that Kyle was.

"Kinda like a pottery kiln, ain't it?" Creed put in.

No one could pin the scent down exactly, but they tracked it to a clearing where the surrounding tree trunks had been scored by recent gunfire. There were shell casings all over the place, Human scents, but no blood, and no bodies. Curiouser still, Logan started finding bullets lying in among the casings that looked like they'd come out of an L.A. forensics lab. The slugs were clean, not even a scent of blood, but the way they were flattened and squashed indicated they'd hit flesh. Most of them were the same caliber and make as the one Creed had found at the firing range.

"What the fuck is goin' on here?" Creed muttered, tossing a handful of squashed bullets over his shoulder, "-YOU got any ideas?"

"Know any teleporters who can teleport blood that's soaked into the ground?" Logan asked.

"No, but I can sure think of some uses for 'em," Creed mused.

"Hmm..."

"Let's go find out where all these toys are comin' from," Creed decided.

"Fair enough," agreed Logan.

They set off.

* * *

Even a week or two after the fact, the trails in and out of the clearing were easy to spot. Most tracks had been made by boots of one kind or another, though there were two sets of sandal marks as well. Ammo standardized, uniforms not. That meant mercenaries, and not a group that was used to working together for longer than the life of a pair of shoes. -Good.

Logan found the trail, and followed it due West.

Hidden on the far slope of a deep-cut valley, they discovered the camp. From the look of the wooden palisade surrounding it, the ramshackle fortress had been the target of frequent attacks. Again, there were no war casualties, and no bloodstains.

There was one body, that of a scruffy Chinese man, dead about two months ago. He'd been crucified to the outer Northern side of the palisade, though from the lack of struggle-marks on the stakes, he'd already been dead or dying before they hung him up there. Behind the body, the wooden wall was covered with several layers of tar paper, out to about six feet all around it. There was no clear reason for this, but it made the man looked like a butterfly on a display board.

"Lousy taxidermist," observed Creed.

Kyle wrinkled his nose. The ripest days of the corpse's decomposition had passed, but it was still pretty rank. It was a good bet the inhabitants of the camp could smell it too. What could that guy have done to make such an example necessary?

Or was it a camp at all? There were four palm-thatched guard towers, one at each corner of the palisade, but the setup could be the same if it was a prison.

The hot-rocks ozone smell was strong, almost within the limits of a regular Human's nose.

"Whatever it is, it's here," said Logan. "I don't smell any guard dogs. Dig in."

"Right," Kyle agreed. He chose a blind carefully, deciding on a high thicket of bamboo forty feet away. Kyle hid his pack under a drift of dry leaves, and checked the angle of fire he would have from here. He could cover the main gate, and about half of the visible palisade, including three guard towers. The angle on the camp itself was too low, and he wouldn't be able to cover that.

Scouting done, Kyle returned to where he'd left his dad and Logan.

They were gone.

"I hate it when they do that," said Kyle, walking back towards the bamboo thicket.

* * *

"Lookin' pretty worried there, partner," Creed observed.

"Do the words 'disintegrator ray' mean anythin' to ya?"

"Yeah. Sunburn," Creed smirked.

"Let's get this done," Logan ghosted out from beneath the cover of the trees, crossing the open country in front of the palisade in a single silent dash, and flattening himself against the rough wooden wall as soon as he reached it. Logan snuck around to the base of one of the guard towers, and climbed to the level of the chest-high wooden box that enclosed it.

Deliberately, he scuffed the side of the box with the toe of his boot. The guard looked over the edge of the box, rifle in his hands, but not quite ready for what was coming. Logan applied fist to face, and grabbed the guard by the hair to keep him from making noise when he dropped.

An American soldier, complete with dog tags. Interesting.

Logan allowed the guard to slide down into the box, and climbed over the side. There was a ladder in the center of the tower floor, made of bamboo poles and rungs lashed together with yellow nylon rope. When he reached the ground, Logan found Creed waiting for him.

"Just out o' curiosity, why didn't we torch this place?" Creed asked.

"That woulda been a good idea," said Logan, skipping over the moral arguments and going straight for the implied 'you didn't ask'.

Creed looked irritated.

* * *

The interior of the camp consisted of four long barracks buildings on the West side, two supply buildings near them on the North side, a cooking setup under a palm-thatched awning near the center, and a command post on the South side that looked newer than the rest of the camp.

Most of the camp's occupants were in the barracks buildings, and though the one nearest the command post was quiet, a heated mahjong game was taking place in the second one. Ducking beneath the more quiet of the two buildings, Wolverine slunk to the corner nearest the command post. Monsoon rains in this part of the world made it necessary to build on bamboo stilts, the higher the better, and the buildings of the camp were no exception. Three feet of ground clearance allowed Logan to move almost normally beneath the floor base, as long as he stayed hunched forward. Sabretooth didn't bother. He simply dropped to all fours like the hunting cat that was his namesake, and kept going. Looking across the hard-packed dirt between the barracks and the command post, Logan paused, hand up. Something wasn't right.

Creed looked at him questioningly, irritation tempered by the knowledge that Logan was often right about things like this.

Logan looked around carefully. Nothing was this easy. High tech weapons always came with high tech security. Or at least a LOT of low tech security...

No dogs, no laser-alarms, not even any guards inside the camp itself, just those at the perimeter.

...Unless, of course, the weapon could defend itself.

Logan fished out his Zippo, and pointed to the cook's setup in the center of camp. He needed a diversion. Creed pointed to the ammo supply building, and nodded. Logan shook his head no. If the unknown weapon used some kind of nuclear or chemical-based ammo, they could to kill off every man, fish, and microbe from here to Madripoor bay by cooking it off like that. He pointed to the palisade instead.

"That works," Creed shrugged, vanishing into the surrounding night.

Logan waited until the first scent of burning wood drifted past, then made his run. It was dark beneath the command post, scraps of moonlight filtering down through the slatted floor above in window-shaped squares. Someone was up there. Probably whoever was in charge of this little operation. Smelled human, and Logan had some experience judging these things. A cry of alarm went up from one of the sentries. Fire spread well across the seasoned timbers of the palisade.

"Bloody hell..." the voice in the command post swore, "-they've finally come looking for it!"

"Mnhh?..." a second voice queried, sleepily.

"Get the Master Form out of here. I'll stay. Come back for us and tidy up later," the Brit ordered.

/The Master Form. That's what the Lazarus project was after the first time I came here/ Logan thought, /I've never seen it actually DO anything, but I've seen what it can inspire... I left the damn thing here last time, after the massacre. Are these guys just squabbling over it again, or has some bright lad finally figured out how ta turn it on?/

* * *

A blast of white-hot rocket exhaust broke apart the floor a few feet to Wolverine's left, narrowly missing him and singing his sleeve. The roof was torn open a moment later, and the roar of a departing rocket-pack dropped off swiftly.

Just like that, the prize was gone. Logan blinked.

They'd been prepared. Not for Team X specifically, but for commando raids in general, and they didn't seem to care what happened to the rest of the camp.

Logan reached up through the charred hole in the floor, and pulled the Brit down to the ground under the command post. The Brit didn't make a noise, and he tucked his head down towards his chest as he fell, thus avoiding being knocked out. Logan took away his sidearm and clamped a hand over the man's mouth, just to be sure. His catch wasn't classically British looking, more East Indian, and his uniform was mostly SAS stuff without the patches. Dark, cool eyes looked up at Logan impassively, watching for an opening.

Wolverine knew this kind of warrior well enough to know that the value of surprise and intimidation had just dropped to zero. He'd die before he talked, and he couldn't be set loose. Logan broke both of the Brit's wrists, and choked him unconscious.

From the roof of the ammo supply building, Creed watched the scurrying forms below him run around like confused ants. They wouldn't be able to stop the wildfire spreading across the palisade, they just hadn't realized it yet. There was a flash of fire to the South, streaking upwards out of the ruins of the command post with the hollow roar of a chemical rocket. Some guy was trying to bug out, using a jet-pack. Some sixty meters above the camp, the jetpack slowed, preparing to change direction. A single shot rang out, and the wearer of the jet-pack jerked in midair. The pack's fuel tank exploded a split-second later, swallowing itself and it's wearer in a black and orange ball of flame. There was a secondary explosion, pure white light edged with a nearly ultraviolet purple glare. This light was steady, a soft, searing blindness that drifted downwards from the core of the explosion like a dandelion seed. The hurrying forms on the ground slowed in proportion to it, as if time was slowing down too. Gripped by the panic of an animal who hears a trap snap shut, Creed threw out a hand between himself and the unholy light above. His fingers moved unhurriedly, as if he was trying to swim though hardening epoxy.

The world ground to a halt above him, and the soft, terrible oval of light exploded. The last thing Creed was aware of was the curious sensation that this light had gone through his eyes into his head somehow, and was shining through his brain against the back of his skull.

Logan heard the sharp thump of the explosion overhead, and hit the dirt. Something like the heat of the sun struck the back of his neck, and his scalp and the backs of his hands tingled, as his healing factor kicked in. He didn't -feel- injured anywhere...

He didn't look up. He couldn't even open his eyes. The light was everywhere, and though it's source was in the air somewhere overhead, it came from everything, and it was bright even through both sets of eyelids.

* * *

/Is Kyle out of range?/ Logan thought anxiously, /-this could let up any minute now, and then what? Will everyone else be dead? Or gone? -Creed!! Where-...Can't smell anything. Too much burning ozone. If this ends and there's cover, I'll go for that. If this ends and there's nothing, I'll stay down and see what happens. I won't leave here without my partner. Never again. Wait- -AGAIN?!/

The image of Creed snarling in a dimly-lit concrete hallway flashed in front of his eyes.

/The weapon X lab. Why did he want to stay? Creed's feral in this memory. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to speak, and he can't, but he's telling me to run, and he means it. Why-/

The light was fading. Fragments of rocket-pack clinked onto the ground nearby. Logan opened his eyes, cautiously. The night was quiet. The palisade fire was out. Still bodies littered the ground around him. They smelled burned. Logan's night vision wasn't as sharp as usual, but he caught the sound of faint movements from here and there in the camp. About half the mercs were dead. One of the live ones was lying under a dusting of metal scraps from the rocket pack, naked. He didn't look injured, but he didn't move, except for breathing. -Asleep, from the sound of it. Four yards away, a mercenary Logan had seen alive before the blast went off lay stone dead with deep red scorch marks on his face and arms. Standing quickly, Logan found sanctuary in the shadow under one of the barracks. Sorting sounds in his head like a Las Vegas card counter, Logan found the one he was looking for. Creed was alive. Darting quietly past dead and sleeping enemies, Logan reflected that Creed's heartbeat sounded a lot more like a large wolf's than a Human's. He'd never given that much thought, and right now it just made his search easier.

Gaining the roof of the ammo storage building, Logan found Creed alive but unconscious. His hair had grown back. Logan shook Creed by the shoulders, without result. He slapped him. Again, nothing. Logan glanced around at the ground warily, to see if anyone ELSE had woken up. No. Taking Creed's head in both hands, Logan head-butted him forehead-to-forehead, in true bar-fight-starting fashion.

Creed groaned softly, and scowled. Then he punched, eyes still closed, catching Logan in the solar plexus. The blow knocked the breath out of him for a moment, but no more than that. It hadn't even knocked Logan off the roof. Creed didn't look coherent enough to have pulled that punch consciously, which meant he was in a really bad way. Logan growled in his ear, letting Creed know who he'd just punched.

"...'At you?" Creed asked.

"Course it is," Logan glanced around the camp again.

"Did you -SEE- it?"

"The light?"

"...Guess not," Creed covered one of Logan's hands with his own, smiling a little and looking very tired.

"C'mon. Get up."

"You gotta be kiddin'."

"No. Get up."

"Why?" Creed asked, sounding almost confused.

"On your feet, dammit!" Logan ordered.

Creed tried. If his sense of balance hadn't suggested to him that 'up' was to the left and downwards, he might have even succeeded. As it was, he nearly fell off the roof. Logan caught him, preventing this.

"Whoa."

"Fine. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya," Logan put him in a fireman's carry, and didn't stop until they were safely under the cover of the forest. No-one followed.

* * *

From the bamboo stand on the hillside above them came a soft, questioning whistle.

"It's us," said Logan. A normal speaking voice wouldn't carry back to the camp, but it would reach Kyle's ears just fine. Kyle joined them a moment later. He got nearly within arm's length of them before he realized Creed was sitting on the ground.

/Kyle's night vision must be more messed up than mine/ Logan decided.

"What happened?" Kyle demanded. He had tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but he failed. This would be over soon. Dad was invulnerable. ...Wasn't he?

"No idea. We'll sort it out later," Logan told him, briskly. "Let's get some distance first. I'll take point."

Kyle nodded his agreement, then looked uncertainly at Creed.

"If he bites, bite him back," Logan advised.

"Just give me a hand up. I can walk from here," Creed brushed him off.

Kyle did as he was asked. Creed still looked a little rocky, but he was as good as his word. He did tend to walk into things, though.

Three miles Southeast, they camped in the shelter of a sandy undercut stream bank, thickly overgrown with reeds and ferns. Kyle had his full night vision back, and he was glad of this. The dark, blank gulfs under the trees had given him the willies.

"Catch," Creed said, from behind him.

Kyle snatched the object passing by his head deftly. Dry rag knotted around gun-cleaning stuff. Figured.

Food was easy to find in this forest. Dates, tree snake, and some kind of yellow tropical fruit Kyle had never seen before. Most of it went well with peanut butter.

Sniff snf...

"I thought we -talked- about that Skippy shit," Creed objected, pointing at the plastic jar Kyle had just opened critically.

"Want some?" Kyle asked, innocently.

"Pass it."

Logan snorted. They were -never- gonna get Kyle truly trail-broken if Creed didn't stop sharing Kyle's stash. Kyle always brought something. What it was varied, but he never seemed to be able to get through a mission since the Balkans without pulling out some kind of junk food. It had been pop-tarts last mission, strawberry jam the mission before that...

What the hell. Kyle already knew he could survive without bringing extras. If the kid wanted to go to the trouble of carrying the stuff with him anyway, he might as well reap the rewards.

Hell, after a night like this one Logan could have done with a fifth of JD's himself, though he hadn't brought any.

* * *

Nobody was talking about it. Not even Creed, which was saying something. Whatever he'd seen at the heart of that fierce, terrible light, Creed was keeping it to himself.

Logan waited until after the food was finished, and then asked Kyle what he'd seen from the hill when the strange bright light had gone off.

"I think I caused that light somehow," Kyle began, "-it started right after I shot down the guy with the jet pack. It came out of the fireball, and I blinked, and then I couldn't open my eyes again until it was over."

"Same with me except I never saw it straight on," said Logan. "I know what we're up against now though. Ever hear of somethin' called the Master Form?"

"Uh-uh," Kyle shook his head.

"What?" Creed looked over at Logan sharply.

"Ya heard of it?"

"You gotta be kiddin'. You know what kind o' holy-grail stuff you're talkin' about here?" Creed asked.

"Yeah, I do."

"Huh. I knew ya came out here sometime, but the -Master Form-..." Creed smirked, "-whassa matter? Get bored with the Ghenna stone?"

Something in Creed's expression set off alarm bells. Big ones.

"...Tell me you didn't set that up," Logan growled.

"Happy birthday," Creed grinned.

"How the HELL-?!" Logan broke off, eyes narrowed, "-PROVE it.

"Who d'ya think put together enough o' the stone ta start the ball rolling in the first place?"

"Any kook coulda done that," Logan pointed out, dubiously.

"Put it together, yes. But only I coulda given up a chunk that big willingly, an' you know it."

"You JACKASS! The stone USED you ta-"

"Why didn' it stick with me, then? You can't tell me Ba'al wouldna liked BEIN' me..." Creed countered.

"Flamin' possessed crystal out o' the old testament," Logan seethed, "-I s'pose a card was out o' the question?"

"Done to death," Creed snorted, "Cyclops could do better than that."

"Less damage to yer rep, though," Logan pointed out.

"Huh?"

"It's really too bad nobody knows ya set up a big bad demon like Ba'al ta get his ticket punched, ain't it? A move like that's almost heroic."

"You wouldn't."

"Wanna bet?"

"That's not fair."

"What d'ya know about the Master Form?" Logan asked, offering a subject-change.

Kyle made a mental note to get the Ghenna stone story out of BOTH of them, and see what, if anything, matched up.

* * *

"The Master Form's been around since before the colony days. Dependin' on who you listen to, it's either some kind o' holy relic, or it carries a curse, and you know what it looks like better than I do. Priceless don't even scratch the surface when it comes to this thing," Creed explained.

"Anything more specific?"

"Rumors. Rivers of gold, raising the dead, world domination. The usual."

"Raising the dead, eh?..." The Master Form could have done that, from what Logan had seen back at the mercenary camp, but it also killed. Holy, but also accursed. No wonder there was so much blood on the thing.

And was a bullet the trigger to activate it? The death of the jetpack-rider? The heat of the burning fuel? The belief of one or more of the mercenaries down below?

"Pretty useless door prize, from where I'm sittin'," Creed shrugged, "-if I kill someone, I'd just as soon they stay dead. Closure, and all that."

"It's a white elephant," Logan agreed, unhappily, "-even if it's never misused, just owning the Master Form would paint a target on the owner that would make that contract o' yours look like amateur night."

"So, ah-" Kyle paused.

"Yes?" Logan prompted.

"You're going to destroy the Master Form? Just because?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, that's the plan," said Creed.

"Can we DO that?"

"Probably," Logan told him, "-but you mean 'are we allowed to', don't ya?"

"I don't give a rat's ass if we're allowed to or not," Kyle corrected, "-don't you think it might be useful to have? Nobody has to -know- we kept it..."

"Last time a guy tried that, a tank drove up through a nice quiet suburb, and blew away his house with him and his wife still in it," Logan said, flatly, "-somebody sent these mercenaries here, and they know the Master Form's here. People in SHIELD know we got sent here, and the helicopter crew... That's already a blown deal."

"What if-" began Kyle.

"NO," Creed cut him off, "-the Master Form gets aced. End of discussion."

* * *

The mercenary camp was empty when they returned four hours later. It wasn't hard to see which way the mercenaries had gone though, back towards the firing range near the beach. So many tracks... It was true, then. The whole camp, both the survivors of the first explosion AND the casualties of it, had walked out without so much as a blood trail.

No, that wasn't quite true... The body nailed to the North wall of the compound was freshly killed. The fire had damaged the palisade enough that when the Master Form activated, some of the holy/deadly light had shone on the corpse despite the tar paper behind it.

So, someone had done the poor crucified S.O.B. a favor and killed him again before the camp was abandoned. Looking at a fresh corpse that he had already seen two months decomposed made Kyle's head hurt.

Creed seemed to be much quieter on this visit, and he searched around carefully for the bodies of two soldiers he'd killed just after he set fire to the palisade. They were gone.

The prospect of hunting a mercenary battalion of Humans that could come back to life repeatedly didn't sit well with Creed, Logan noticed. He wondered why.

* * *

For the next two days, they ambushed the new camp the mercenaries had set up near the beach repeatedly, without success. Each time, the mercs set off the Master Form when almost all of them were dead, bringing back the bulk of their forces just in time. Each time the mercs hit their precious re-set button, they came back fully rested, which balanced disgustingly well against the extra endurance provided by Team X's healing factors. Both sides were wearing down, but on the mercs' side it was more from shell shock than fatigue.

Except for a handful of bullets that only worked in the sniper rifle, Team X was raiding their ammo from the mercs, and that wouldn't hold out much longer. In the interest of not letting this standoff go on forever- -which it literally could- -any boats that tried to re-supply the mercs were shot at by either Creed or Kyle until they veered off. They had to end this quickly. Whoever the mercenaries' employer was HAD to have heard about the attacks by now. Of course, that was exactly what Wolverine had said at sunset yesterday. The mercs couldn't get away, but neither could team X get close enough to take the Master Form away from them. The mercs surrounded the watermelon-sized round sculpture fiercely, like a flock of birds protecting a single egg. It was their life, their only ticket, and they knew it. Instead of setting up anything like a normal camp, they simply set up around the Master Form like a colony of gun-toting sea lions. Logan wished he had brought a fuel-air bomb like the one he'd used on the bio-weapons lab. THAT would have taken care of this.

Two days ago, Wolverine had almost pitied the mercs, having to die over and over- -REALLY die, not just get injured and heal as Team X did.

Two days ago, he hadn't killed most of them more than once. There was something in these men's eyes that was no longer Human, like the glassy hollow need in the stares of drug addicts.

That damn Easter-egg was their religion, and the mercs would die for it over and over. Maybe the Human mind just wasn't designed to handle death more than once or twice a lifetime...

Creed had named it the Easter-egg. The Master Form did sort of look like one. Maybe a piece of modern art, or a big ovoid of Swiss cheese. Definitely not something that looked like it had the power over life and death, and yet it did. They SHOULD be able to handle these mercs, but the Easter-egg wouldn't let them die. Either it was a piece of alien technology, or the gods somewhere were laughing.

* * *

In the early dawn of the third day, a heavy, soaking rain pounded the beach, and the mercenaries' driftwood fire wouldn't stay lit. Creed had taken a pack of 'Lucky Strike's off of one of the mercs in the last battle, and he was smoking them the under the hood of his rain slicker, listening to a couple of enemy sentries talking about a whorehouse in Alabama the way most men talked about their mothers just before crying. At his back, a tarp rigged between some palm trees was keeping Kyle and Logan dry. Drier. What ammo they had taken was stashed under the tarp as well, shored up on rocks to keep it out of the wet sand.

It was fucking miserable weather on zombie island, but the mercs were feeling it more than Team X was. Considering what passed for a nice warm spring in the Alberta back-country, this was peanuts. The cigarettes tasted pretty good right about now, though.

They'd been fighting more or less non-stop for seventy-two hours, when the rain started back around midnight or thereabouts. The mercs had just set off the Easter-egg, and the newly-reawakened soldiers had found a case of grenades.

Damn them.

Creed had dropped back to the tree line, and laid down covering fire for Logan and Kyle. Then both sides dug in against the weather, tried to sleep while they could, and waited for the day. Creed ducked back under the edge of the tarp, when he heard Kyle waking up. Kyle was in full child-mode this morning, looking up at his father uneasily from under the shelter of Logan's arm. Kyle glanced back at Logan guiltily, opened his mouth to -try- and explain, then closed it and swallowed, watching Creed's expression darken like the clouds overhead.

Creed crouched beside them, looming over Kyle like a second conscience. Then he smirked, and scratched Kyle behind one of his ears.

Kyle blinked.

"Ah-"

"Shhh," Creed put a claw to his lips.

"Right," Kyle whispered.

"Let me guess," Creed whispered, conversationally, "-ya sleep better by Logan, but got no idea why?"

Kyle nodded.

"Relax. It's a cub thing. You imprinted on 'im or somethin'."

"I'm twenty-six, though..."

"In Human years, yeah," Creed pointed out.

"Hmm," Kyle frowned.

"You sure ya don't smoke?" Creed asked.

"Yeah."

"I do," Logan mumbled, sitting up sleepily. Kyle froze, and glanced up at Logan sharply. Logan cracked his neck a few times, then pushed Kyle's head back down against the liner of Kyle's sleeping bag with two fingers, "-go back ta sleep, kid," he ordered, with a lopsided smile.

Creed lit one of the remaining cigarettes from the end of his own, and passed it to Logan.

"Mercs do anything?" Logan asked him, after taking a deep drag.

"Nah. Too busy bitchin' about a little rain."

"Huh."

Logan peered out through the rain at the bedraggled encampment on the beach. Hardly anything was moving. There were worse ways to wake up, Logan decided.

* * *

Maybe it was having had six hours sleep, and maybe it was the cigarette, but Logan felt especially deadly this morning. What they'd been trying wasn't working, and probably never would. These weren't normal Human soldiers. This was more like a cult, or an alien hive-mind. They talked like Humans, they walked like Humans, but they no longer thought or died like Humans.

The mercenaries could not simply be overrun. These men would kill their wounded, and have just that many more fully healed soldiers as soon as the Easter-egg went off. There men were the ones Marlon Brando's character had wished for in 'Apocalypse Now', the soldiers who would do anything necessary, no matter what the cost to body and soul.

These were the arm-cutters.

It was damned impressive, and it would have even been admirable, if the mercs' core beliefs had hinged on something more significant than a way to cheat their way out of failure. Cheating or not though, the Easter-egg WORKED for these losers...

So, Team X would have to change the whole game.

Half a dozen sleeping gas grenades, for example, could have dealt with the problem nicely. Neither side had brought any of those. Pity. Ditto for tear-gas, and the flash-bang grenades had been used up in preparation for a night attack a day ago. Calling SHIELD for an air strike would look extremely bad, but-

-OH.

...Of course...

* * *

"Who am I speaking to?" the Brit demanded, over his radio.

"How are your wrists?" Logan asked.

Pause.

"Listen, you mad sonofacunt-" the Brit started snarling, then caught himself, "-I know what you want, and I'm not giving it to you. We have nothing to discuss."

"You seem to like boats. Now me, I like helicopters..." Logan continued, "-lots more range, ya know? With all the entrepreneurial sprit in this part o' the world, I'm sure I could have a cloud of stinger missiles gift-wrapped for you by lunchtime."

"I could do the same," the Brit pointed out.

"Why haven't you?" Wolverine asked, "-wait, don't tell me... you don't want big brother ta find out about this little incident, right?"

"It's not like you're keen to see this on CNN either," the Brit pointed out, derisively.

"It ain't the news I'm worried about. Turn to the Madripoor coast guard channel."

"The Prince of Madripoor would never-"

"Try the North Vietnamese Navy. You're screwed," Logan grinned.

"You're bluffing."

"Try me."

There was a pause, as the Brit switched channels. Even from up near the tree line, Logan could hear the heated exchange between the head of the Madripoor coast guard and the radio operator of a North Vietnamese warship. Since French was used as the local international language, that's what they were speaking. 'Pardon my French' indeed. The warship captain was PISSED. Something about Madripoor having violating international anti-nuke-testing treaties, and his ship blowing the hell out of Rumika island. Activating the Master Form as many times as the mercs had in the same spot, they'd inadvertently created a radiation hot zone.

Logan waited, and mentally crossed his fingers.

"You dog-soldiers can't take a ship-to-surface missile either, can you?" the Brit said, when he switched back to Logan's frequency, "-what's the deal?"

"If I don't let your boats land, you're not leaving. At the same time, you have something I want. I don't expect you to give it to me, so let's trade: you, in exchange for us letting the boats land."

"Why me?" the Brit asked, suspiciously.

"Because I've seen what the magic prize DOES to you people. You'll never give it up now, will you? That's my guarantee. You held me at a standstill for three days. That's smart enough to find your own men later, whether they want you to or not," Logan explained.

"If I refuse?"

"I've seen your heart, British. Literally. What do you think?"

The radio crackled quietly in the rain. A fight broke out near the center of the mercenary camp.

It was over quickly. The Brit was thrown out of the mob towards the tree line, with his wrists tied behind his back, and a very ugly bruise over one eye.

"Twenty-eight seconds," Creed smirked, checking his watch. Logan watched with a quiet smile. The Brit had gotten back on his feet, and was cussing out his lieutenants. They, in turn were telling him to start walking before they got trigger-happy.

"Don't forget," Logan warned, elbowing Creed.

"Who, me?" Creed faked sounding offended.

Logan nipped him on the ear, hard. Creed hissed, just barely audible. Between one breath and the next, Logan disappeared into the brush beside him, and Creed was alone.

* * *

The Brit tramped sullenly up the slope from the beach, casting venomous glances behind him. Creed waited until the man had walked past him, and then tripped him casually.

"Got voted off the island, huh?" Creed grinned.

"HEY-" the Brit looked up at Creed, angrily, "-where's the little guy?"

Creed grabbed the merc by his hair, and duct-taped his mouth shut. He looked at the tape roll thoughtfully, and then kept going, wrapping the merc's entire head, except for his eyes. The effect was not unlike a ninja-mask, and made sticky sounds whenever he tried to move. The Brit looked panicked for some reason, and was making whimpering sounds.

"Oh yeah," Creed flicked his thumb claw across the Brit's face just under his nose, cutting him a little, but creating a breathing hole.

-Gasp gasp gasp...-

Creed inspected his handiwork, satisfied.

"Okay-" Creed thought for a brief moment, deciding on-, "-Calvin. Get up and start walking North, Cal."

/CALVIN?/ the Brit shuddered, standing, /-what's this nutter playing at?/

* * *

Wolverine gained the cover of an outcropping of seaweed-draped rocks, and slipped into the surf up to chest level. He settled his mask into place, carefully checking the rubber seal to see that none of his hair was caught in it. The seal was good. He dove. Underwater, the beach looked a lot better, all shades of blue light and darkness, pale sand, and twisting red coral. Above, the low waves were pocked ever so slightly by the impacts of rain drops. There were two sharks nearby, but he wouldn't be in the water long, and they'd never met a sea lion with foot-long claws before. There were more sharks just down the beach from the mercenary camp, circling. The rain was sluicing blood down through sand and out to sea. They looked happy.

/You guys ain't seen nothin' yet.../ Logan thought, swimming out towards the deeper water.

None of the hunters had long to wait.

Motorboats skimmed through the water overhead, throttles to the wall as they raced for the tainted beach. A larger boat waited uneasily a quarter mile offshore, the color scheme unmistakable. Madripoor coast guard. Surprise, surprise. Logan waited until the motorboats had stopped to pick up passengers, and found a concealed loop of rope just under the bow of the second boat to arrive. The sharks got a few chunks of mercenary during the boarding process, but didn't do too well against the knives that were used to punish them for this. The boat, now riding lower in the water, came about and started picking up speed, actually raising up again as the sleek hull hydroplaned towards the larger coast guard vessel. Logan kept his knees near his chest, holding as much of his body out of the water as possible, and hung on. When the boat slowed and slid back down so most of it's hull was underwater, Logan detached unseen, and swam under the keel to the opposite side of the bigger boat. A shark swam under him, brushing the bottom of his heel with it's dorsal fin speculatively. He unsheathed his left set of claws and slashed at it. The shark was fast, and barely managed to evade him, but it got the message.

Unchallenged, Wolverine climbed a low-hanging tack-line, waited until no-one was looking, then was over the white-painted railing, and well hidden in a high coil of mooring rope. From the conversations he could pick up, the Easter-egg was already aboard, in the main mess hall.

That would do.

* * *

Creed shoved the Brit forward one-handed, almost knocking him down again.

"Quit draggin' ass, Cal. Yer beginnin' to irritate me."

/Sigh.../

They were almost there, Creed noted. He could hear Kyle's voice just up ahead.

"-You don't get your coast guard out of the way in five minutes, we will be forced to consider it an openly hostile act. Aiding terrorists-"

"Captain, I'm still not picking you up on radar," -the voice on the other end of the radio interrupted him, "-please re-state your position, over."

As they emerged from the cover of the trees, the Brit froze in his tracks, staring. Sitting casually on the pontoon of a small Zodiac at the water's edge, was the younger of the two blondes, the sniper. He was talking into a radio, and his careful French carried a slight Quebecois accent, now that the Brit could hear it without radio static. Wait a minute...

-THIS was the North Vietnamese navy radio operator?!

"Mhhhph -hmmmhh hmuhk- -huvmm?!" exclaimed the merc, glaring at Kyle in disbelieving rage.

Kyle waved to him, still arguing on the radio.

"Thought you might say that," agreed Creed, understandingly, "-shut the fuck up and get in the boat."

Shoulders drooping, the merc wondered if there was anything sharp in the boat he could use to cut the rope around his wrists, and whether it would be worth his while if there was.

"Yes, I'll hold-" Kyle said, feigning irritation.

"Time to cut 'em loose," Creed told him, pushing the Brit down in the bow of the boat.

"Uh, yes? Hello? Well, there's been a big misunderstanding..."

"What do you MEAN there's-" the coast guard demanded.

"Prank call, sucker. Have a nice day." Kyle told him, in English.

The radio was silent for a moment, then it exploded in a stream of what sounded like someone cussing him out in Chinese. Kyle turned it off, chuckling to himself.

"Nice work," Creed told him, as they pushed the Zodiac down into the surf.

"I'm an old hand," Kyle shrugged, "-the phones in Department H were set up to block caller I.D."

* * *

The engine room was deafening. Silver-gray pipes laced with oil and rust chugged with the power of the huge diesel that dominated the compartment.

Diesel. Hell.

Diesel fuel would burn, but not half as well as gasoline, and it wasn't explosive.

Logan went looking on the storage deck. He found a case of signal flares, and half a pound of potent cocaine, bagged and duct-taped under the bottom of a red fire-hose storage locker.

Logan couldn't use this, but it gave him an idea. He took the breather-mask in the firefighting kit.

Following the scent of blood, latex, and iodine, he located the ship's medical center.

It wasn't much, just a converted ship's cabin with a rumpled bunk on one wall, a sink, and several locked cabinets.

Locks. Heh.

One of the cabinets smelled like-

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" the ship's doctor demanded, "-get out!"

"Back off, I've had medical training. We got shark-bites and two gunshot wounds upstairs." said Logan briskly, without turning around, "-where d'ya keep the suture kit and anesthetics?"

"Oh- -second cabinet from the left," the doctor told him.

"Thanks-" -it was Chloroform. Primitive, effective, perfect.

"How many-" the doctor began, reaching for one of the boxes in the same cabinet. Logan grabbed the doc's wrists, twisting them sharply behind his back, and slammed the guy up against the door frame. "-WHAT THE HELL!?-" Logan taped the guy's mouth shut, and secured the doctor's wrists together with a roll of surgical tape, then attached him to a water pipe on the wall.

"Use the bolt threads at the base of the pipe to cut the tape. You should be loose in about five minutes. There really are shark bites upstairs," Logan told him. Then he grabbed two of the large brown glass chloroform bottles, and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

The main mess hall was on the deck above. Logan ran into a couple of mercenaries guarding the door, but they couldn't stop him. One cut him on the arm before he could knock the guy out, though. It was hard to hold glass bottles and fight at the same time.

Kicking the door open, Wolverine lobbed both bottles into the mess hall. One hit a merc on the back and dropped to the floor without breaking, but the other hit the deck and shattered, sending a thick cloud of anesthetic fumes in all directions.

Half the mercs held their breath, and another four had gas masks themselves, but everyone else was hitting the floor very quickly. Logan went to work, starting with the conscious mercs nearest the door, and waiting for the rest of them to run out of air. Somebody thought to open a door. It was a good idea, but there was already too much vapor in the compartment. Half a minute later, only ten people were still standing. Logan, Two native Madripoor thugs, three of the gas-mask guys, a huge Jamaican, and three others who must have been pearl-divers at some point. One of the gas-mask guys had the Master Form. The Jamaican opened up with a pair of Mack-10's and Logan had to dive out of the way fast. He hit the deck and rolled, then came up, and killed two of the pearl-divers with his claws.

Then there were eight. One of the gas-mask-wearers opened a crate at his feet, and started pulling grenade pins.

The merc standing next to the bomber, the one holding the Master Form, closed his eyes and started whispering.

/Ahh, &!#.../

* * *

A series of explosions rocked the newly quiet bay. With the heavy gray clouds overhead, it could almost have been thunder, if it hadn't been for the column of thick black smoke. Creed brought up the Zodiac's outboard motor with a pull or two of the starter cord, and took the tiller, steering out towards the sound of the explosion.

"Wildchild?"

"Yes?" Kyle was surprised. Creed never called him that. It was his codename, though.

"Bind his eyes," Creed instructed, "-the tape's in my pack's side pocket."

"Right," Kyle added two more strips onto the Brit's duct-tape facemask, sealing the eye-slit. The merc's eyes were dark brown, with tiny, sun-squint tan lines at the corners. Kyle felt a little sorry for him, but not too much. He patted the merc on the head, then checked the plastic bag over his rifle to make sure it hadn't gotten wet. It had. Kyle wiped it dry. The gun might still work, or it might not. He unloaded it, and got his M9 ready instead.

There were survivors in the water, mostly Madripoor coast guard. Creed drove past them. The pale silhouette of the slowly sinking ship could be seen below through the turbulence on the surface, passing the fifty-foot mark on it's slow downward drift. There were probably a lot of sealed compartments with trapped air.

No sign of Logan. Maybe he was still in one of these compartments?

He would find his way out, Creed decided. Even if Logan had been nearly killed by the blast itself, he would wake up soon enough.

Unless... the Easter-egg had the power to knock him cold, and there was no reason it couldn't do the same to Logan. Could he find Logan in the dark water, without the sound of his breathing, and possibly his heartbeat? Underwater, he wouldn't be able to track by scent.

He could send Kyle down, but then he would eventually have to explain why...

-Creed had kept this to himself, but he hadn't actually seen anything for three days, not since he'd seen the Easter-egg go off for the first time. It hadn't killed him, as staring at the thing would have killed a Human, but it had blinded him. Not that big of a deal, for someone who relied more on scent and hearing anyway. Even an eyelid made a sound when it blinked.

Underwater, though...

Maybe he should go searching in spite of it. If this vision problem was psychological, needing the missing sense that badly would probably return it to him. Not a bad idea.

Then again, if he was willing to risk missing Logan in the water because he couldn't see him, he probably wasn't attached enough for it to work. -Damn.

Assuming that Logan needed the help to begin with.

He was probably already swimming up from the wreck or still kicking mercenary ass in one of the ship's dry compartments. Had to be.

Kyle seemed antsy. Maybe he'd offer to go down after Logan without being asked. /C'mon, boy.../

No.

* * *

Creed killed the Zodiac's engine, and leaned over the side, ducking his head underwater. Millions of bubbles rising from the sinking ship, and the creaking of the hull warping under greater and greater pressure drowned out everything else at first. The voices of people still trapped on board cut through. Thrashing water all around. A grinding crunch that sounded suspiciously like a bone breaking in the jaws of a shark. A metallic snap, one of the ship's antennas, maybe. A grunt, and a hollow, meaty thud, as something solid connected with a shark's rough flank. That sounded like it came from deeper than most of the live ones were, maybe thirty or forty feet down.

Yes.

Creed pulled his head out of the water. Logan would be up soon.

He felt almost disappointed.

Something brushed Creed's hand at the water's surface, something he KNEW wasn't Logan. Creed slashed at it with his talons, and was rewarded by a howl of pain from the merc who had been trying to climb aboard.

"Punk," Creed spat. The merc floundered around a bit in the waves beside the boat, and then screamed, and was silent. Logan's shark fan club had found easier pickings.

Logan broke the surface a minute later, grabbed a breath, went back under, and handed Kyle a sodden backpack strap. In the backpack, was the Master Form. Creed took Logan's hands, and hauled him aboard. Logan fell over the side into the bottom of the boat, covered in healing shark bites, and the tattered remains of his uniform. He didn't get up. Creed covered Logan with a rain slicker, and pointed to the stern of the craft.

"I got 'im. Get us out of here."

Kyle re-started the motor, and steered the boat East, out towards the open sea. Creed got some drier clothes on Logan, curled up in the bow of the boat with him, and slept.

* * *

Hours later, the rain had lightened to a drizzle. The volcanic peaks of Rumika were still visible to the West, and the red sails of a large junk glided past on the Northern horizon. The Brit, sitting in the stern opposite Kyle, wished to god somebody would take the duct tape head-wrap off.

Nobody did.

Kyle decided against waking anyone up. He changed course, and headed back towards Rumika. Two miles off the Southeastern tip of the island, Kyle spotted another boat, a speedboat that didn't look like one of the coast guard's. Probably the one Col. Fury had promised him over the radio an hour ago. Kyle's thoughts strayed to the contents of the backpack Logan had brought aboard, sitting safely beside him. They hadn't planned to let SHIELD have it, right? Kyle checked the speedboat's progress. Ten minutes, max. He couldn't destroy it in that time. During the siege on the beach, he'd skipped several sniper-rounds off the thing, without effect. It was heavy, though...

If he woke up his parents to ask what to do with it, the Brit might figure out that they had the Master Form in the first place, and then they'd have to kill him. As far as anyone else knew it had gone down with the main coast guard ship, and as of now, that would be the official story. Kyle raised the backpack carefully, one-handed. He passed it over lowest part of the engine, behind his back, then lowered it into the propeller-wash, and let go. Kyle glanced at the others anxiously.

No one moved. He'd done it. Out above the choppy green water behind them, the massed rain clouds were beginning to break up.

Unloading the remains of their gear from the Zodiac into the speedboat a quarter of an hour later, Logan asked Kyle if he'd seen his backpack.

"No, not since we left the beach," Kyle lied. Logan and Creed exchanged glances.

"Huh. Guess I lost it to the sharks," Logan shrugged.

That was the end of that.

* * *

Epilogue:

Sabretooth woke up to a band of light stretching across the ceiling above his bed. The ceiling fan turned quietly, and the wood grain on one of the fan blades looked like Alaska. Creed shut his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. The fan was still there. He'd gambled that his sight would return before it became necessary to tell anyone, and hot damn, that bet had just paid off.

Grinning, he threw off the sheets, and ran to the back door.

The pale sand burned like glass, and the sea looked like a stadium full of flashbulbs.

Light HURT.

Creed went back inside, and shut the door partway. Things caught his eye, like the bright red plastic of a coffee can lid, and a stack of papers he'd been collecting as he found them over the past few weeks. One of Logan's plaid flannels lay on the floor partway behind the couch. It hadn't been worn, and Creed doubted it would have fallen there by accident. A clean shirt didn't smell, and it could have lain undisturbed for months if he hadn't...

-Seen- it.

Logan knew.

How long he'd known was a very good question, but it no longer mattered.

Logan was in Japan now, visiting Amiko and probably giving the local Yakuza boss a fast ulcer.

Kyle had gone back to Canada. Something about Alpha Flight, and people to see.

Creed favored the shirt with a wry smile, and tossed it on the coffee table. He blew the dust off his computer, booted it up, and logged in.

Four hundred-odd e-mails. Great. Creed deleted all the obvious junk mail, and everything with the 'BroEM:' header. Giving Magneto his e-mail address had been a mistake, but the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants mailing list was the next best thing to Mutant news, so he hadn't blocked it. Toad, on the other hand...

There were lots of job offers, which wasn't surprising for an election year.

Ah, here was something- -the Foreigner didn't correspond much. The message was brief, "Are you bored?" and the subject line read "Re:Last placed contract."

Whoops.

"What's the problem, old man? Don't like me thinnin' out the fresh meat?" Creed asked the screen, in annoyance. He checked the date the message was sent anyway. Three days ago.

Good. The Foreigner usually gave it about a week before he decided that one of his orders had been ignored and rained unholy whoop-ass on the guilty party.

Creed had been called on to administer that punishment far too often to take the order lightly.

Hell, if Logan was leaving shirts behind his couch, maybe the outside entertainment was overkill anyway.

He'd cancel the price on his head later.

Maybe talk Constrictor into kidnapping Kyle while he was at it. Constrictor was just tough enough to handle attempting a stunt like that, and he could probably use the work as much as Kyle needed the practice...

Creed smiled.

-

-END-

-

* * *

Author's Notes:

I wrote this one back in '03-'04.

I didn't write it to post it. I wrote it for me. Still, since you're here at the end readin' this, I hope you liked it.

Since I am a die-hard scary comic book geek, I'll tell you where I got some of the details:

* * *

'Ghosts of Rumika' was based on the events in, 'The Lazarus Project'

(Wolverine #27-30)

-

Sabretooth visits Wolverine every year on his birthday, and leaves... presents.

(Begins with Wolverine #10)

-

The 'Ghenna Stone Affair' was explained in 'Wolverine # 11-16'.

-

Tyger Tyger is Canon. She can be found in many of the Wolverine issues set in Madripoor. She's a bad-girl crime boss (though thoroughly back-storied and not completely evil), and that suits Logan just fine.

-

Frank Payne, AKA 'Constrictor', was once a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative working for Nick Fury. He became a villain after being forced to continue a traumatic undercover assignment too long (revealed by Fury in 'Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. #36).

Constrictor and Sabretooth have worked together as hired muscle and mercenaries, and they go way back.

They also shared a small apartment in New York in the 1970's, which was FUNNY AS HELL. (Sabretooth Classic #2)

-

The events surrounding the Hotel(/shelter) Prophesy and Logan's escape from the Weapon X Project are detailed in the graphic novel, 'Weapon X' by the freakin' awesome Barry Windsor-Smith.

-

The explanation of Elsie Dee and Albert was in 'Wolverine' #35-42.

I got Nick Fury's 'What I know I can't tell, but have a cigar' line from the last page of #42.

The full conversation was,

SHIELD doc #1: "Wh-who was that crazy guy?" (talking about Sabretooth)

Logan: "He said he was my father."

SHIELD doc #2: "No way... ...Both your blood samples gave us some screwy readings but the basic blood types are clearly discernable and unless Gregor Mendel was dead wrong-- --that wasn't your biological father who just took a dive into the East river!"

Logan: "Whu--? He was LYING?"

Fury: "Nope. He really thought he was your pappy, Logan..."

Logan: "You KNEW? You never told me? What's the WHOLE story? Best give it to me straight, bub!"

Fury: "Don't know the whole story and what I know I can't tell. It's classified and ultra hush, and I swore the oath... Sorry. Here, have a cigar."

-

The Canon story of how Sabretooth and Mystique met was given in 'Sabretooth: Death Hunt #3' by Larry Hama and TEX. Birdie was also explained in the 'Death Hunt' arc, and she dies at the hands of Graydon Creed in issue #4.

* * *

If you really want to know where I got anything else, drop me a line.


End file.
